


veni, vidi, Vinci

by carrieevew



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke Griffin, Bellarke Big Bang, Crime Comedy, F/M, Minor Memori, art heist au, based on a movie, fast burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew
Summary: “Lady with an Ermine?!” Bellamy exclaimed dropping the leaflet. “You want to steal a Vinci painting? Have you any idea how much that one is worth?”“A lot, I would assume, seeing how adamant the buyer was and how much he’s offering.”“Murphy, that painting is impossible to take,—”“Ten million dollars.”“It’s an actual national treasure. It’s going to be under constant surveillance. Think about every cartoon heist you’ve ever seen, that’s about the level of difficulty we’re talking about here.”“Which is why we’re going to need a very good plan.” Murphy leaned back in the chair and kicked his legs out. Bellamy stared at him for a couple of long breaths.“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” he asked shaking his head.“This is why I’m out, Bellamy. This is my retirement. It could be yours, too.”Once upon a time, Bellamy used to be a thief. But then, his partner in crime, Murphy, was caught after a job and when he went to prison without revealing the identity of his partner, Bellamy decided to turn his life around. Only now, Murphy is back to ask Bellamy’s help with one last score – to steal a Vinci.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 90
Kudos: 117
Collections: Bellarke Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my goodness, this is it! my Bellarke Big Bang entry! it's an art heist AU based on a Polish movie [_Vinci_](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0425622/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1) (so guess what they're stealin' ;-P). 
> 
> this fic has been a long time coming. i've had this idea for more than three years now and i still can't believe i actually finished. i'd like to thank anyone to whom i ever talked about this over those years, all of you, who encouraged me to go for it. if it wasn't for your support, i would've given up on it a long time ago. and to Chloe, who organised the Big Bang, i love you for this, for giving me this final push, without even knowing.
> 
> but the biggest, the hugest thank you goes to [Lindsey](https://chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky.tumblr.com/), the amazing artist who worked with me for the event and created a couple of unbelievably beautiful pieces. i have no words to say how much it means to have had you and your support over the last few months. 
> 
> title of the story is a quote from the movie (deleted scenes, but still), hope you guys enjoy!

**Prologue**

_**Six years ago** _

The drive back from that last job was so quiet, the mood in the car so tense, that when the fuel warning light came on with a bong, Bellamy nearly jumped in the passenger seat. His hands curled into fists and he could hear Murphy curse and slap the wheel with his hand.

“Fuck,” Murphy grunted again and sent Bellamy a sour grimace. “I knew that fucking alarm wasn’t the only thing we forgot about.”

Bellamy groaned and rolled his eyes. He bounced his fist against his knee, weighing their options. Stopping for fuel at the station with all the stolen goods still in the boot was a tremendously bad idea but running out of petrol in the middle of the motorway would be even worse, so when Murphy pulled up at the nearest station, Bellamy just huffed but said nothing.

Bellamy left Murphy at the pump and went inside to grab them something to eat before they hit the road. Raven was waiting for them in New Jersey and they really needed to haul ass, because of that alarm, the cops must already started looking for them.

Murphy drummed him fingers on the roof of the car while he waited for it to fill up. He shifted from one foot to the other, willing the petrol to flow faster. Fuck the both of them for forgetting about something so stupid and fuck them for thinking that there wouldn’t be a second alarm, ready to go off the second the opened that safe.

He kicked one of the tires.

The car was now filled almost to the brim when a police car pulled up to the station and parked at the front. Murphy swore when he noticed one of the cops looking at his car and then pointing it out to his partner.

Murphy put the hose back and moves slowly around the car, never looking away from the cops. He tensed when they got out from the patrol car and came up to him, looking at his car closely.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, as calmly as he could. Polite, however, he was not.

“We’re just admiring your car, sir, don’t worry,” one of the cops said. He was younger than his partner and seemed like he actually tried to seem more inconspicuous but Murphy still snorted at the effort. His banged-up Kia was a boil on the car industry’s butt and the only thing worth admiring about it was the fact that it was still working. The younger cop must’ve realised the pointlessness of his small talk and the easy smile he was sporting disappeared from his face. He propped his hands on his belt, one of them uncomfortably close to his gun. Murphy clenched his teeth.

The sudden tension of the situation snapped when the other cop walked up to Murphy and looked him over with a smirk.

“Wait a minute,” he said, pointing a finger at Murphy, “I know you, don’t I?” The finger waggled in front of Murphy’s face and he huffed, fighting the urge to swat at it. But yeah, they did know each other—if _knowing_ meant being bullied by as a freshly-orphaned teenager in juvie.

“Officer Schumway,” Murphy grumbled. “How nice to see that you’re moving up in the world.” There was only so much civility that Murphy had left in him and he wasn’t about to waste it on an old tormentor.

Schumway’s smirk only grew as he leaned against the side of the car.

“Mr. Murphy, how about we pop this bad boy open?” he said, patting the boot lid.

“How about we fuck off,” Murphy fired back, crossing his arms on his chest. He knew he was done. Now that Schumway had recognised him, there was no way he would get out of here without getting all his cavities searched but hell if he was gonna do that the easy way.

“Mr. Murphy,” the younger cop seemed to have woken up and re-joined the conversation. He also had that annoying expression on his face, like he was trying to be friendly, even though he knew how bad the situation was for Murphy. “We’ve had a report about a car matching the description of yours, leaving the scene of a crime earlier this evening. We just want to do a quick check to see what’s going on.”

Murphy sent him a withering glare but walked over to the boot—the cop’s fingers were now on the gun and Murphy had no intention of getting shot over a box of coins and some trinkets. He opened the boot and stepped to the side, watching as Schumway’s smirk grew into a self-satisfied grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile but made him look like he’d been electrocuted instead. Schumway took a pen out of his pocket and hooked it into the eyehole of one of the balaclavas.

“Where’s the other guy?” He asked while his partner riffled through the trunk, looking like he was going to come right where he stood. Good for him, working with Schumway, this must be the highlight of his career.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Murphy said with a shrug and something almost murderous flashed in Schumway’s eyes.

“You get cold on a job, huh? You need two of those?” Schumway all but stormed over and got into Murphy’s face. Murphy just shrugged and Schumway clenched his teeth so hard that Murphy wondered if they may have cracked.

“You will tell me who was with you,” Schumway spat out but before Murphy had a chance to get punched in the face for shrugging again, Schumway’s partner came up to them, handcuffs in his hand.

“Mr. Murphy, I’m afraid we have to take you in,” he said. If the guy wanted to sound sympathetic, he failed miserably. Murphy just rolled his eyes and put his hands behind his back as the cop rattled off the Miranda warning. He was already at the patrol car when he dared to look up and into the station shop, where Bellamy stood in a small crowd of onlookers. Murphy caught his eye and shook his head ever so slightly, hoping that Bellamy understood to stay away.

As Bellamy watched the scene unfold in front of him, his fingers clenched on the bag of crisps he was holding. He was ready to storm out of the shop when he saw Murphy face off against the cop but then he froze when Murphy opened the boot. The bag turned into a crumpled mess and finally, he just dropped in onto the floor. Not that anyone cared or noticed, every single person in the shop had their nose glued to the window, phones pointing at the scene.

Bellamy looked down at his hands, still clad in leather gloves, and started to pat his pockets, looking for his own phone. His eyes never left Murphy and finally, his friends looked up. Bellamy took a step forward but Murphy shook his head to stop him. Every bone in his body wanted to go to him but just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and through the fog in his mind, he saw Octavia’s name pop up on his screen. Blood rushed in his ears and he was barely able to comprehend the text she had sent him but it sobered him up enough to remember why was he there in the first place.

There was nothing that he could do for Murphy now but his sister needed cash for new cleats and he needed to go back home to her.

Bellamy pulled his beanie lower on his head and slowly backed towards the exit next to the toilets. He took long strides and soon enough, he was at the nearby bus stop, in the line to board the first bus that came by.

As the bus drove off, Bellamy could still see the red and blue lights of the police cars in the corner of his eye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the story begins!

When Bellamy came home that night, something wasn’t quite right. He could’ve sworn he locked both locks on his front door but only the upper one was latched now. He put his hand on his holstered sidearm and slowly entered his house, ready to draw it if necessary.

“Is it a bad time?” Murphy’s voice sounded from inside of his living room and Bellamy’s shoulders dropped slightly but he didn’t relax just yet.

“I don't know, is there a good time to get heart attack?” Bellamy answered with a raised eyebrow. He came into the room, using the flap of his jacket to hide the gun, and watched as Murphy settled more into the armchair. “How did you get in here?”

“I know it’s been a while but I _am_ a burglar and a thief,” Murphy linked his fingers over his chest with a deep smirk, looking like he was about to make himself home right then and there.

Bellamy huffed a little.

“Okay, fine, what are you doing _here_ , then? I thought you still had three years left of your sentence.”

“I’m on parole now—good behaviour, actually. And I was very repentant in front of the parole board,” Murphy pursed his lips and nodded his head in mock seriousness. “Now, there’s a job to do and I need your help.”

“A j—have you lost your damn mind?! You’ve been out for how long? And you’re already looking up new ways to get beck behind bars?” Bellamy shook his head in disbelief.

“You only go to jail if you get caught.”

“Which you were!”

“Hmm, unlike you,” Murphy pointed out and leaned forward in his seat. Bellamy stared at him for a beat before he dropped down onto the couch with a long huff. Murphy took it as acquiescence. He grabbed his duffle bag, stuffed under the coffee table and fished out a leaflet for an upcoming travelling art show, sponsored by the Azgeda Corp. Bellamy looked up from the leaflet with confusion but Murphy was already pulling out an old textbook on renaissance art. He opened it up at one of the marked places and turned the book around to reveal—

“ _Lady with an Ermine?!_ ” Bellamy exclaimed dropping the leaflet. “You want to steal a Vinci painting? Have you any idea how much that one is worth?”

“A lot, I would assume, seeing how adamant the buyer was and how much he’s offering.”

“Murphy, that painting is impossible to take,—”

“Ten million dollars.”

“It’s an actual national treasure. It’s going to be under constant surveillance. Think about every cartoon heist you’ve ever seen, that’s about the level of difficulty we’re talking about here.”

“Which is why we’re going to need a very good plan.” Murphy leaned back in the chair and kicked his legs out. Bellamy stared at him for a couple of long breaths.

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” he asked shaking his head.

“This is why I’m out, Bellamy. This is my retirement. It could be yours, too.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet,” Bellamy put the book down on the coffee table and rested his elbows on his knees. Murphy looked straight at him without a word for a long moment until finally, he just hummed shortly, got up and dropped an old flip phone on the top of the book.

“The exhibit starts in New York in less than three months and everything needs to be in place by then, we need to be ready for when it comes here, to DC,” he said grabbing his duffle bag. “I’ll be in touch,” he added as he headed to the door.

“Murphy!” Bellamy called after him but all he heard was the click of a closing door. He shoved the phone away and grabbed the book again, opening it at the page with the painting. He stared at it for a several beats. He finally moved, when he felt his own phone buzz in his pocket. The book discarded, Bellamy fished the phone out but ignored the text, tossing the phone on the cushion next to him. He brought both hands to his face, pressed them over his eyes and let out a loud groan as his head dropped to the back of the couch in frustration.

***

For two days, Bellamy stared at the phone Murphy had given him like it was a World War II misfire, just waiting to go off. And then, when he was in the middle of his weekly shop, the phone rang, playing some shrill ringtone that sounded like someone was drilling into his brain with a rusty drill. It also got Bellamy a whole slew of glares, seeing how he didn’t even realise at first it was his pocket that was making that unbearable sound.

“Consider yourself invited to a dinner tomorrow, I’m cooking,” Murphy said when Bellamy finally answered the phone.

“I can feed myself, thank you,” Bellamy grumbled, putting a bag of pasta into his basket with force, as if Murphy could see him.

“Congratulation. You can sit back and just watch me eat, if that’s how you like it but we need to meet up and talk about our plan.”

Bellamy stopped at the end of the line to the cash register, his fingers clenching tightly on the handle of the basket.

“It’s not _our_ plan.”

“But it could be, if you just put your heart into it,” Murphy encouraged with sarcasm dripping off of every word. “And if you don’t come tomorrow, then I’m just gonna keep on bugging you until you give in. You do remember that about me, don’t you?”

Bellamy felt the sudden need to start swearing but instead, he just clenched his teeth and sent a tight-lipped smile to an old lady eavesdropping from her spot in front of him.

“Fine!” he finally hissed, “I’ll be there, just text me the address.”

***

When Bellamy arrived at Murphy’s doorstep, which surprisingly, happened to be located in a new, fancy apartment building, his treacherous stomach grumbled right as he was about to ring the bell. He rechecked his pockets again, hoping for some reason to turn around and go back home but finally, he just gave up and rang the bell. There was only one more thing he could say, one more chance he had to convince Murphy to give up on this new job.

Murphy opened the door quickly enough, wearing some ridiculous novelty apron, and waved his hand in an invitation without a word. He hurried back into the kitchen to take care of the cooking and Bellamy had to admit, it smelled sinfully good.

“Open the wine, grab the glasses and sit down,” Murphy instructed, nodding his head towards one of the cabinet, "I'll be right there with the food.”

Bellamy watched with his fingers clutching at his wine glass as Murphy finished with his preparations and brought over two plates of some fantastic looking pasta. He sat down to his right and for all of five minutes, the two of the ate in silence. Finally though, Bellamy broke.

“They taught you to cook like that in the prison kitchen?” he asked between bites and smirked when Murphy sent him a flat glare.

“I’ll pretend to forget how your sister used to come by my place for dinner and to complain how you only knew to make three dishes and none of them tasted any good.”

Bellamy let out a long breath at the mention of Octavia and said nothing. Six years ago, he probably would’ve told Murphy all about what happened between the two of them, if only because he didn’t have that many other people to talk to but today, things were different.

Six years ago, they weren’t exactly friends but they did know each other well enough. Today, Murphy had just come out of prison where he spent more time than he was supposed to because he got in a fight his first night in jail. Today, Bellamy owed a debt to Murphy that he wanted to pay more than anything but was desperate to find some other way to do it, that didn’t involve falling back into his old habits.

Halfway through the wine bottle, once they were both done with the food and Murphy had taken the plates back, Bellamy clutched at the bulge in his trouser pocket. He dug it out when he saw that Murphy came back with paper and more leaflets.

“Murphy, we need to talk,” he started before the other man had the chance to talk. “A lot has changed since you’ve been gone. I’ve—I’m taking some online classes to finally get a degree—”

“Great, you’ll have the mornings off.”

“No, not quite, I’ve got a job, too.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Blake, get to the point,” Murphy groaned. Bellamy slapped the leather cover in his hand on his thigh and the just tossed it onto the table.

Murphy picked it up with a raised eyebrow and opened it up, only to drop it back onto the table as if it had burned him. He jumped out of his chair and ran his hand through his hair.

“You’re a fucking cop?!” he shouted, pointing a finger at his police shield that laid on the table, the light reflecting off of it with an almost mocking shine. “What, they didn’t have an opening at the slaughterhouse?!”

“Murphy—”

“I cannot fucking believe. A _damn pig_?!”

“Can you at least understand now why I can’t do this with you?”

“Well, certainly, officer.” Murphy fumed. “Would you like to arrest me now?” he said, arms outstretched, wrists joined.

“You know I’m not going to arrest you.”

“Well, how would I know that? If you could become a cop, who the fuck knows what else you’re capable of?”

“I guess you’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Murphy ran his hand thorough his hair and squinted his eyes. Chills ran down Bellamy’s back, he knew that look and it never meant anything good.

“This may not be the worst thing, after all,” Murphy muttered. “We could use that.”

“No, no-no,” Bellamy started to raise from his chair but Murphy levelled him with a look.

“Tell me, do your new friends know about your colourful past, _officer_?”

“You serious?” Bellamy frowned.

Murphy shrugged. Bellamy knocked his clenched fist against the edge of the table and looked up at Murphy. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to see there but he saw exactly what he’d always seen in Murphy’s eyes, for as long as he’d known him—self-preservation. Not naming Bellamy as his accomplice six years ago was so unexpected and out of character that for the next month, Bellamy would jump up every time a patrol car drove past him, expecting to get arrested. But this Murphy standing in front of him now, gears turning in his head as me adjusted his plan around the new facts, that was the person he used to know.

Bellamy took a deep breath and leaned against the back of his chair. Murphy would go on with his plan regardless of whether he managed to convince Bellamy to help or not, of that he had now doubt. And judging by the determination with which he pursued Bellamy anyway, he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. Maybe this way, Bellamy would at least be able to keep him in check somewhat.

“Okay,” he finally said, bringing a crooked smile onto Murphy’s face. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you and then we’re done.

Murphy came back to the table and dropped back down onto his chair. He pulled up a calendar page with scribbles on it.

“The collection will be assembled in New York sometime at the beginning of May and will stay there until the 15th. They’ll fly in here, to D.C., where it’ll stay for another two weeks. You’re right, obviously, it’d be impossible to take it when it’s hanging on the wall of one of those Azgeda fortresses but then, it’ll go forth to Pittsburgh. And that’s where we come in. Transport is always the weakest point and it’s our chance. We come in, knock a couple out guards out and we leave with the goods. And job done.”

Bellamy grabbed one of the loose papers that listed the details of the entire fleet of private planes belonging to the Azgeda Corporation and the private airports they used. Another showed the names of a staggering amount of security people already employed by them and the list of requirements for all the additional personnel they planned on hiring specifically for the occasion.

“Where did you get all of that?” Bellamy wondered as he looked through all the documents.

“I told you, the buyer is very motivated,” Murphy explained, drumming his fingers on the leather cover of Bellamy’s shield. “The one thing we don’t have is the exact date when the painting are going to be taken down and moved.”

“What do you mean, I thought that whole tour had already been planned and scheduled.”

“Yeah, but you see, there are always two days between the end of one part and the start of another,” Murphy explained, pointing out to the calendar. “I tried different sources and no one knows when exactly will they actually be transported. Well, maybe Nia Frost does but if so, she ain’t telling no-one. But hey, that could be a job for you, it’s not like they’re gonna keep you lot in the dark.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to get that information?” Bellamy huffed. “Am I supposed to come up to the chief of police next time I run into him and ask him to reveal what looks like the most sensitive piece of intel he’s gonna handle this year?”

Murphy chew on the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Okay, fine, no need to get snippy.”

Bellamy grabbed the print out of one of the possible routes they could use to take the paintings to and from the airport.

“And we need to work on that quick plan of yours. We’re not hurting anyone.”

Murphy raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “As you wish.”

Bellamy kept on rifling through the documents when he noticed that Murphy was just watching him with a smirk.

“What?” Bellamy asked impatiently.

Murphy shrugged again, the smirk stayed on.

“You like it, don’t you?” he said, sounding annoyingly sure of himself. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bellamy grumbled, looking down again. He didn’t dare look Murphy in the eye. He was afraid he’d have to admit Murphy was right.

***

The weather was unusually good for this early in March, so the waterfront park was full of people. Bellamy manoeuvred around the parents chasing their children away from the river and looked around as he neared the chess tables spread around between the trees.

Quite a few of them were taken but finally, he noticed the familiar face playing against another man, the two of them surrounded by a bit of an audience.

Bellamy stayed behind while the two men finished their game and when one of them left and the crowd dispersed, he walked up to the table and sat down across from Dante Wallace who only raised an eyebrow when Bellamy started another game. They were a few moves into the game when Bellamy finally spoke.

“You probably don’t remember me, professor, but I used to attend one of your lectures, a few years ago. You told us once about a series of reproductions you’d painted for the university back in the 70s, including the _Lady with an Ermine_ and how they’d been proudly displaying them ever since.”

“And you’ve come here to express your appreciation for my craft?” Wallace asked, only looking up from the game for a moment.

“In a way, I suppose.” Bellamy moved one of his pieces, which brought a tiny smirk to Wallace’s face. “I was wondering if you would be interested in painting that one again. For a fee, of course.”

Wallace’s hand hovered over his piece when he looked up and stared wordlessly at Bellamy for long enough that he started to suspect his old professor was getting more interested than he was letting on. Wallace leaned back, momentarily abandoning the game as he touched his face.

“I’d say that probably depends on whose wall is this one going to end up and whether or not they knew who actually painted it.”

Bellamy’s mouth jerked into a small, surprised smile. He knocked over his king and extended his hand towards Wallace.

“I’m sure you know that painting is coming over here in May,” Bellamy said. Wallace shook his hand and nodded. “Well, someone’s paying quite a penny to have it delivered to them. I know who’s doing it and trust me, that painting is as good as gone.”

Wallace hummed and went quiet again. Bellamy’s hands dropped from the table down to his lap and he had to stop himself from squirming under the professor’s gaze. The moment seemed to stretch forever before Dante brought his hand to his face again and rubbed his chin.

“You know, I do remember you, Mr. Blake,” Wallace finally spoke. “I especially remember when you dropped out of my class to focus on your criminology degree that would help you with your career in law enforcement.”

Bellamy felt his eyes bug out of his sockets and though he tried, he wasn’t able to hide the absolute surprise off of his face—judging by the satisfied smile that bloomed onto Wallace’s face. Bellamy’s fingers dug into his knee.

“So, tell me, Officer Blake,” Wallace continued, “if you have such intimate knowledge of a crime that’s about to happen, why are you here, talking to me—asking me to participate in it, instead of telling your colleagues about that?”

Bellamy took a long breath and closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He honestly didn’t expect Wallace to remember him, he’d only attended a handful of his art history lectures, almost five years ago, before he decided to switch majors. Eventually, he went into the police academy and dropped out of college altogether, only to finally pick up some online classes a few months back, hoping to finally finish his degree. He didn’t expect anyone to have paid any attention to him and now, he was lost for words.

He blinked a couple of times, the silence heavy between the two men. There was a thought in Bellamy’s mind that told him to just ask Wallace to forget about everything and run but he _knew_ he couldn’t do that. The phone Murphy had given him was burning a hole in his pocket, never letting him forget what was at stake here.

Wallace’s eyebrow hiked even higher the longer Bellamy stayed quiet. Bellamy looked him in the eye and cleared his throat. There was a glint in Wallace’s eye and for a reason that Bellamy will probably never understand, he just told the truth.

“I owe a debt to someone. And the least I can do to pay it off is not to let them go down for this. I have a plan and I need your help.” Bellamy paused, took another deep breath and looked into Wallace’s face. He didn’t allow himself to show much emotion but there was interest there. Bellamy kept going. “I haven’t heard many of your lectures but I do remember the way you spoke about how important art is, how much it means to our history, our identity. I know how much that Vinci means, that its value can’t really be put into money. I don’t want it to disappear somewhere in some rich guy’s basement or pay for who knows what horrible thing. And I believe that you wouldn’t want that either.”

Finally, some of the composure fell off of Wallace’s face and a small, fond smile appeared.

“You know, I worked on that painting once, the _Lady with an Ermine_. I was a part of a group that was trying to figure out what’s under that blasphemous black background,” Wallace mused, looking over Bellamy’s shoulder. “Even despite all the things that were done to it, it’s still so beautiful. And you’re right, the last thing I want is for it to be lost.”

Bellamy straightened in his seat, suddenly hopeful, for the first time since Murphy broke into his place.

“However, I cannot help you, I’m sorry,” Wallace said and Bellamy deflated. His face must’ve been as open as ever because before he had the chance to say anything, Wallace held up his hand. “Those copies, that was almost fifty years ago. I no longer have those eyes or those hands. But I do know someone who can.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we meet the mysterious painter and the plot thickens.

Bellamy took a table at the back of the coffee shop where he was supposed to meet the painter, the entrance well in his view. Wallace promised him to contact one of his former students and then called to say she had agreed to meet with Bellamy to talk about the details. 

He was so focused on watching the door that when someone appeared at his side and spoke, she took him completely by surprise.

“Bellamy Blake?” he heard and nearly jumped up from his chair. He turned around to face a young women, probably a few years younger than him. Bellamy nodded in confirmation and the woman sat down opposite of him, putting her coffee mug on the table. Her blond hair was tangled in a knot at the top of her head, she wore very little make up and a loose, flowery dress, and for all that Bellamy was sure he’d never met her before—there was no way he could’ve forgotten her—he felt the strangest pang of recognition.

“And you are?”

“Unnamed,” she answered, her eyes boring into him, assessing, “until I make sure that you’re not trying to lure me into some trap, _Detective_. So, what is it about that painting that made you so desperate to have it?”

Bellamy clenched his teeth and watched as she ever so casually stirred the sugar into her coffee.

"I though Dante talked to you about it," he said but the woman only shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of her coffee.

"He did, yes, but now I'm talking to you and I want to hear it from you," the woman leaned back in her armchair, one of her fingers tracing the ear of her mug. Bellamy's eyes followed the movement involuntarily and he noticed a large man's watch on her wrist. When he looked up, the woman was watching him with impatience mixed with enough mockery, that he'd felt his heckles rising.

Wallace must've told her what this job meant, what it implicated them all into. And since Bellamy had spoken to him, Murphy had called twice already, asking to meet and work on their plan. Bellamy knew that they would have to meet up and he wanted to have his part worked out already. He didn't have the time, or the patience, to sit around coffee shops and talk in circles.

“I always wanted a Leonardo to hang in the bathroom,” he snarked back, crossing his arms over his chest. He shot her a challenging look but the woman didn't respond well.

“Why don’t you find yourself a DiCaprio, then,” she said with an irritated huff and moved forward, reaching for her bag.

Bellamy’s hand shot out to stop her from leaving. “ _Wait_ ,” he hissed, grabbing her forearm. He searched her face and he cursed internally when he saw a triumphant glint in her eye. He released her from his grip and fell back into his own chair. He really fucking needed to work on his poker face or this whole thing would go up in flames really, really soon.

“Relax,” the woman laughed lightly as she pulled a black sketchbook from the bag and opened it, resting it against her knees. She pulled a pencil from inside of the book's spine and tapped it against a blank page. “I’m not leaving just yet, I’m still somewhat interested.”

Bellamy ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, making up his mind.

“You’re gonna make me say that out loud, aren’t you? Even if Wallace already told you everything?” he asked. The woman nodded and started to draw something, still keeping one eye on him.

Bellamy leaned forward, trying to close the distance between them.

“Fine then, I want to pay you for a forgery of the _Lady with an Ermine_. It needs to be good enough to pass an expert inspection if needed and I need it by the beginning of May,” he said quickly, keeping his voice low. The women looked up at him for a split second before her gaze dropped down again, back to her drawing.

“Well, then, I want half a million dollars,” she countered, moving her head the side and sparing him another glance. Bellamy opened his mouth but before he could say anything, she continued, “if you want it to be that good, that’s how much it’ll cost. I need supplies and not the kind I could pick up at Walmart.”

The woman raised as eyebrow in challenge and the slightly amused expression clearly meant she was baiting him to argue her but Bellamy just sighed in resignation. Murphy wasn't going to be happy about this but damn it, this was hardly the time for haggling.

“Alright, you’ll get your money,” he agreed reluctantly and the woman smiled brightly. She ripped the page out of the sketch book before putting the book back in her bag and got up.

“Whoa, wait a minute!” Bellamy rushed forward in his seat but this time, she moved out of his reach before he had the chance to stop he again. “We’re not done here, I still don’t even know your name!”

“It’s Clarke,” she said, handing him the folded piece of paper. “Clarke Griffin.” She took a couple of steps backwards towards the door. “Call me,” she added, pointing at the piece of paper in his hand.

Then she turned around and walked out, leaving Bellamy behind. He looked at the picture she’d given him—a quick caricature of him, his hair standing in every direction, holding another piece of paper with a phone number and her name written on it.

And then it hit him.

Clarke Griffin, the daughter of a disgraced engineer Jake Griffin and Abby Griffin, the Chief Surgeon at Metropolitan Hospital.

Now he knew how the hell had he known her; the pictures of her and her mother from Jake’s funeral, both of them clad in black, with their faces deliberately void of any emotion had been staring at him from the front pages of all newspapers over a decade ago, the scandal surrounding their family dragging out for months, followed by the stream of gossip about the daughter going down the wrong path.

Bellamy collapsed back onto his chair, letting out a loud exhale. This couldn’t possibly end well.

But it wasn’t like he had any other choice so he fished out his phone out of his pocket and texted Clarke.

_How much do you want for two?_

***

Bellamy left the station at the end of his shift and looked down the street, looking for Murphy's car. He walked past the couple of patrol cars and finally, someone in a surprisingly sensible family saloon. Bellamy bent down to check the driver and rolled his eyes when he saw Murphy waving his fingers at him.

"What the hell are you driving?" Bellamy asked shutting the door. Murphy wiggled his eyebrows.

"This is our incognito vehicle for the mission. Came with the flat, isn't it nice?"

Bellamy nodded noncommittally, checking his surroundings. He ducked and covered his face with his collar when a couple of cops walked past them.

"Can we please leave now?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently. Finally, Murphy stopped smirking at him and drove off.

Halfway down the street, he reached over to the back seat and started to dig around the bag laying there, keeping one eye still on the road. Bellamy stiffened when they started to stray onto the opposite lane but Murphy slapped his hand away when Bellamy tried to grab the steering wheel. Finally, he found what he was looking for and dumped it into Bellamy's lap.

Bellamy picked up the wadded up papers and unravelled what turned out to be blueprints for the Azgeda Corp. headquarters. His eyebrow shot up but he didn't even bother question where the hell did Murphy got it. Clearly, whoever was bank-rolling this whole circus had ridiculously deep pockets and even deeper determination.

Before he realised, they were parked in front of the Azgeda offices. Bellamy put down the papers and focused on the building itself. Murphy had a good enough plan on how to get inside but they were still working out some of the kinks.

"I've got an idea," Bellamy started, ignoring Murphy's smug smile. "We could switch the painting for a copy and leave that one behind. Maybe that will slow them for long enough that we'll be able to get away."

Murphy hummed.

"It'll have to be a good one," he mused and glanced over at Bellamy. "I bet you already have someone in mind, huh?"

"Yeah. It's gonna cost, though," Bellamy said, keeping his voice even. He sneaked a peek at Murphy, who was already watching the building again. Bellamy clenched his jaw and let out a breath, relaxing.

"Fine, whatever, just don't promise them too much, this is already gonna be costly—cause we need a third." Murphy turned around to dig around his duffle bag again and came back with a tupperware full of home-made crisps and started chomping on them. "It's not like either one of us can walk in there, rob the place and let ourselves be caught on some security camera or a random selfie," he continued between loud crunches of the crisps. He offered Bellamy one and for a moment, the car was filled with nothing but the sound of their chewing.

"By the way, when did everyone started sharing _everything_ online? Was that around before I went in cause honestly, I don't remember people taking a picture of every biscuit the ate," Murphy complained waving a crisp around. Bellamy rolled his eyes at him.

"You were gone for six years, man, not sixty. Social media was already around then."

"Maybe I'm just older and wiser," Murphy proposed and bit at the crisp, grinning around it.

"Maybe you're just an idiot," Bellamy countered. "Anyway, you're right. We need someone. Do you have anyone in mind?"

Murphy nodded, throwing the empty tupperware behind him.

"The fence who offered me the job, she's willing to help for a song."

"Isn't she getting paid for delivering the painting to the buyer?"

"She is," Murphy confirmed. "But that's _her_ job. If she's gonna help us with _ours_ , she wants a cut. Besides, I thought you didn't care about the money here?"

"Fair enough," Bellamy agreed easily. He looked out the window and sized up the Azgeda building again. "We should leave now, before someone catches us in one of those selfies after all."

***

Bellamy’s phone pinged for the third time in the last half an hour and even before he picked it up, he felt himself smiling a little, already knowing who the text was from.

As soon as Murphy had agreed to his idea, Bellamy called Clarke and asked her to give him updates on her progress. She grudgingly agreed and now she was flooding his phone with texts during her trip to an art supply shop. He’d already gotten a whole gallery of brushes she bought and for the last thirty minutes, she’d been keeping him appraised while she was busy searching for the proper paint.

She was distracting him from filling his very own mountain of paperwork but he still picked his phone every time. And every time, he tried to remind himself that he should keep his distance instead because as soon as the job was done, they’d each go their own way and that would be for the best. But it wasn’t as easy as Bellamy hoped it would be, not when she made him feel more excited about hearing from her than any other woman he’d met in ages.

She’d just told him that she was still looking for the proper panels to paint on and Bellamy ignored his partner’s knowing look. He turned the sound off and tossed the phone onto one of the piles on his desk.

Bellamy tapped his pen against the papers in front of him and in the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Pike coming in, leading a man in. His floppy hair and young face made him look like a boy bang reject but even with his fairly limited knowledge of the subject, Bellamy could tell that the tailored suit he was wearing probably cost more than his monthly rent. Bellamy kicked the divider between their desks to get his partner’s attention and Miller looked up from his paperwork with raised eyebrows.

Pike led the man into the bullpen and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“I’d like to introduce you to FBI Agent Finn Collins—”

“ _Special_ Agent,” the man interjected and Bellamy only just caught the light snort that Miller let out.

“Yes, _special_ agent Collins came here from Quantico to evaluate our procedures for when the Azgeda Corp.’s exhibition comes into town in a few weeks,” Pike continued while Collins puffed out his chest a little bit. “It seems that our precinct is situated in the zone that the FBI set up around their building and we will be one of the precincts charged with managing the calls and phone lines dedicated to the exhibit. And special agent Collins here is going to tell us what’s expected of us,” Pike explained easily but Bellamy felt anything but that. He knew the FBI would be involved in the matter but having them in his house was—less than ideal. He hoped that no one noticed how stiff he went while processing the news.

Agent Collins went into a long-winded preview of what exactly will they have to do over the next few months and how very, incredibly important it would be for them all to listen to and follow all his instructions closely, and a quick look around the bullpen clearly shown that everyone was slowly drifting off.

Bellamy’s phone vibrated suddenly, making him jump a little. Miller sent him a questioning look but Bellamy just pointed at _special_ agent Collins with his eyes and grimaced, hoping to divert his partner’s attention. Miller shook his head lightly with disapproval and when they both looked around the bullpen, Bellamy noticed everyone looked at Collins roughly the same way—not particularly happy about having the FBI coming in and telling them how to do their jobs. Luckily enough, that made them all look just displeased enough that Bellamy could blend in with his forced neutral expression.

Fucking perfect.

***

Murphy drove the two of them to the parking lot behind an abandoned supermarket. They both got out of the car and sat on the bonnet, waiting for Murphy’s fence to come.

Bellamy drummed his fingers against the headlamp nervously until Murphy shot him an impatient look.

“What?”

“An FBI agent came by the station the other day, we’re joining their task force dedicated to the exhibit’s security," Bellamy explained. Murphy only shrugged.

“So?” he asked flippantly. “You worried he’s gonna look you in the eye and figure out that you’re about to steal his painting?”

“I’m just saying we need to be careful.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and pushed away from the bonnet. He walked over to the back of the car, opened the boot and came back with what looked like a hard drive in his hand.

“We might as well use this to our advantage,” he said, handing the device to Bellamy. “When the fed comes back, you’re gonna bug him.”

“Are you serious? How the hell am I supposed to slip him that _brick_ without him realising?” Bellamy exclaimed, raising the device to eye level. Murphy levelled him with a look.

“You _don’t_ ,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “This thing will copy his phone. We’ll be able to listen in and find out the exact date the exhibition will be moved.”

Bellamy looked at the device again. The details of the technology went over his head but he could appreciate the cleverness of that plan—not that he’d ever tell that to Murphy.

He pocketed the device and for a moment, he wondered again who exactly hired them for the job because if there was one thing Bellamy understood about the technology was that a device capable of breaking the encryption on a federal agent’s phone couldn’t have been cheap or easily accessible, and definitely not something that Murphy could’ve gotten his hands on without some serious help.

He didn’t get the chance to think too much about it or decide whether or not he wanted to ask Murphy about it because soon enough, another car came into the parking lot. Murphy smiled a crooked smile that surprised Bellamy enough that he dropped the subject at hand and focused on watching his friend instead.

Murphy let out a breath and wiped his palms on his jeans. He shot Bellamy a look and for the first time since they’ve known each other, Bellamy saw a soft, almost loving look on his face.

“Whatever you do, don’t stare at her hand,” Murphy said, his pointer finger raised.

The car stopped right in front of them and a woman with long, dark hair stepped out of it. On her left hand, she wore a leather glove and above the hem, peaking from under her sleeve, Bellamy could see long-healed scar tissue. She walked up to Murphy, grabbed him by his belt buckle and pulled him in for a dirty kiss. Bellamy folded his arms on his chest and cleared his throat.

“Hello, detective Blake,” the woman said with a smirk, still all but holding Murphy by his balls. Bellamy stiffened at her recognition and cursed internally, annoyed at himself. Why was he even still surprised that apparently everyone seemed to know who he was?

The woman extended her hand and as they shook, she looked him up and down. He straightened his back and dropped her hand. That’s when he noticed the swirling tattoo on the side of her face.

“I thought we needed someone who won’t stand out,” he fired off before he could think better of it. The woman smiled at him and brushed the hair away from her face, showing off the tattoo even more.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I know how not to get caught,” she shot back.

“Bellamy – Emori, Emori – Bellamy,” Murphy introduced the two of them, coming to stand between them. “She knows what she’s doing. And more importantly, she knows the stakes.”

Bellamy puffed his cheeks but finally, he gave in. If Emori was responsible for delivering the product to the client, that meant she was more than invested in the job going smoothly. And with the exhibit approaching quickly, they didn’t have much time for looking for anyone else, anyway.

***

Bellamy balanced the two pizza boxes and his duffle bag on one shoulder as he tried to put in the security code for Clarke’s building. She’d given it to him after he nearly drove her crazy ringing the doorbell the whole time she cleaned her hands before she could open for him.

He finally opened the door for himself and went straight up to her studio in the loft. As he’d expected, Clarke had the music blasting off from the speakers and didn’t even hear him come in. Instead, she stood in front of an easel, wearing an old, pale blue flannel shirt that reached her knees, paint brush in her hand. Bellamy was so focused on watching Clarke that he didn’t even notice the old chest of drawers in his way, not until he walked right into it.

The sound of it scraping against the floor brought Clarke out of her focus and she turned around to look at him with a soft smile on her face.

“Redecorating?” Bellamy asked, putting the pizza boxes on top of the furniture. “This is coming out of your pay, by the way, I’m not a delivery boy,” he tried to sound stern but she levelled him with a doubtful glare. He smiled despite himself.

Clarke went back to her easel where she was smearing something white onto a wooden panel.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked not looking at him.

“Feeding you.” Bellamy brought her pizza closer and dropped it onto a stool next to the easel. “And protecting my investment.”

“An investment implies that you’ve put some money into it but instead, I’m nearly two grand out of pocket,” she pointed with her brush to the chest of drawers and Bellamy only just noticed that it had been gutted, the drawers pulled out and disassembled.

“You know, if you’re trying to scam me, buying old furniture and bragging about it probably isn’t the best strategy.”

Clarke huffed, dropped the brush and went over to the sink to wash her hands.

“If I was scamming you, I wouldn’t have driven to three different flea markets looking for the right kind of wood.” She walked over to the broken up drawers and picked up one of the bottoms. “Leonardo painted the Lady on walnut and unfortunately, our local art supply store doesn’t carry five-hundred-year-old panels, nor could I chop down a random tree, just for a couple of boards, even if I did find one old and wide enough. Hence, the furniture shopping.” Clarke explained slowly, handing Bellamy one of the panels. He looked at it dumbly for a moment before putting it back down.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he conceded, making Clarke hum. She cleared some of the clutter from the large dining table in the middle of the loft and waved him over. They both sat down with their food and for about two pizza pieces, they ate in silence. And then, Bellamy broke.

“So, you’re an artist?” he asked and immediately scrunched up his face. _That was smooth_.

“What was your first clue?” Clarke chuckled.

“No, I mean, is this what you do for a living?”

She chewed her pizza and for a second, Bellamy thought she wouldn’t answer him. Maybe she thought it was more that she wanted him to know about her and honestly, he couldn’t blame her, given the circumstances.

“I’m an art restorer, actually,” she explained, looking him straight in the eye, and Bellamy felt something warm pool in his stomach. There was a level of trust and sincerity in her eyes that surprised him. They both knew that if he wanted, he could’ve just googled her—even a decade after the scandals involving her family, there surely would’ve been more than enough information about her online but this was different. Bellamy wanted to learn about her _from_ her, not just because what they were doing required a level of trust that seemed impossible between two strangers, but also because—well, he wanted to know her.

Despite his better judgement, despite knowing that after the dust settled, they should all go their separate ways, Bellamy wanted to learn more about her.

Clarke ran her hand through her hair and Bellamy notices there was a red streak between her beautiful blond curls. He smiled lightly, wondering if she’d done in on purpose of if maybe that was just some paint left-over.

“I was supposed to be a doctor, you know,” she said, thoughtful, bringing Bellamy back to the conversation. “My mother really wanted me to follow in her footsteps and when I got into college, I had all those pre-med classes all picked out but then, umm,” she cleared her throat, “then my dad died and it was—difficult.”

Clarke tipped her head to the side.

“I’m sure you’ve heard all about that, about the rumours of him selling some company secrets and all that,” she waved her hand dismissively and looked away but the wrinkle across her forehead belied her easy tone. “Well, I didn’t take it well, I took a whole year off and I just lost myself in my painting. My mother found me this really great art therapy group and that’s how I met Dante, actually, he came in every once in a while and talked about how it helped him deal with things and—he was the one who convinced me that it could be more than just a hobby, that I could make a living out of it. And so, art restoration.” She shrugged lightly and her eyes snapped back to Bellamy when he hummed a quiet chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke retreated, “that was a lot, you don’t wanna know all that.” She got up from her seat and cleared out the empty boxes, carrying them to the tiny kitchenette. Bellamy followed her without a second thought.

“I do,” he assured her quickly. “I asked, didn’t I?”

Clarke turned around and leaned against the sink. There was a tiny, unsure smile dancing on her lips.

“You know, this isn’t what I expected from this arrangement,” Clarke said. “I thought you’d just drop off the money and we’d only see each other again when I handed off the paintings.”

“Is that how you want it to be like?” Bellamy asked, the fingers of his left hand clutching unconsciously around the phone in his pocket. He didn’t want to stop seeing her but if she decided to she wanted him to stay away, he would’ve.

“I probably should, right? That would the smart choice, cause the less we know about each other, the better.” She sighed. “But if I really wanted that, I wouldn’t have told you my sad story and I wouldn’t have sent you all those texts before.”

Bellamy grinned at her, relaxing.

“And here I was thinking you were just punishing me for demanding to be kept in the loop.”

Clarke laughed with a tiny snort and pushed away from the sink. “Yeah, I was a little. But it was fun, wasn’t it?” she winked at him and Bellamy narrowed her eyes—just for a second, before a snicker escaped him. Clarke nodded in victory.

She opened a small fridge in the corner and pulled out a bottle of beer, offering it to Bellamy.

“Wanna stay for one? I’m done for today, maybe you can join me in watching actual paint dry?” she asked with a teasing smile. Bellamy nodded, grabbed the bottle and went back to the table. When Clarke joined him, she pulled the sheets off of a couple of old armchairs and the two of them sunk into the cushions.

“So, it’s your turn now,” Clarke said between swigs of her beer. “Why exactly did you decide to steal a national treasure?”

***

Murphy drank whiskey from his tumbler, hip resting against the edge of his kitchen island. Bellamy glanced at him from the mountain of papers on the table he was sitting at, a pen in his hand. They’d been ironing out the last details of their plan, making sure to time everything and cover all the escape routes, for the last couple of hours.

“What?” he asked with a groan, noticing the smug smirk on Murphy’s face. Bellamy tossed the pen, leaned back in his seat and screwed up his face.

Murphy shrugged one of his shoulders, knocking back the rest of the whiskey. He sauntered back to the table and dropped heavily onto the chair. He picked up one of the pages, covered in notes in Bellamy’s chicken scratch handwriting and smiled at it. Bellamy snatched the page back from him and put it back into its proper place. Murphy snorted.

“What?!”

“Nothin’, just that you look like you’re really enjoying yourself, it’s cute,” Murphy teased. Bellamy blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. Murphy smiled. “All I’m saying is that you’ve been very busy with the research, the forgeries and fine-tuning every single detail so that we will run like clockwork, it’s great. And dare I say, you missed it.”

“I missed planning robberies? Hardly.”

“No,” Murphy huffed. “Just—the action, the excitement. I mean, come on. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Bellamy stayed quiet. He didn’t exactly have a good response—not one that didn’t convince Murphy that he was right. Because frankly, yes. As much as Bellamy hated to admit it, even to himself, he was having fun. The whole ‘heist of the century’ thing aside, this was a surprisingly enjoyable blast from the past for him, even spending time with Murphy wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, seeing how he’d basically been blackmailed into this situation. And then Clarke—Clarke was someone he never saw coming.

Murphy levelled him with a knowing look, taking Bellamy’s silence as confirmation.

“Hey, is that why you became a cop? Is it the adrenaline of chasing after innocent people?”

Bellamy snorted. “We were _not_ innocent. And no, not entirely.” Bellamy shook his head. “The pension and health benefits are a nice perk, too.”

“Uh huh, sure, that’s why you squeezed yourself into that polyester nightmare of a uniform,” Murphy said and pursed his lips, shaking himself off at the very thought of a police uniform. Bellamy drummed his fingers on his thigh.

“I don’t know.” Bellamy let out a loud huff. “When you didn’t turn me in, I figured it was a second chance. An opportunity to do something—smart with my life, something where I won’t risk leaving Octavia behind. And yes, the irony of choosing to be professionally shot at as the safe option is not lost on me.

"And besides, I’m good at it.”

“Ugh,” Murphy groaned and then laughed. “You were always the noble boy scout.”

“I was a thief! Still am, by the look of it,” Bellamy countered, poking at the blueprints on the table.

“Sure, but even that you only ever did to take care of your sister. It was nauseating.” Murphy threw his hand in the air, sending a few of the papers flying across the table. Bellamy slapped his hands on the table to keep everything in place and looked at Murphy sideways.

“You’re such an asshole.”

Murphy weaved his fingers together, put his hands behind his head and stretched in his seat, grinning proudly.

“Born and bred.”

***

It’s not like Bellamy wanted to keep tabs on agent Collins. Frankly, counting the tiles in the bathroom at the station sounded more alluring than taking an interest in him but he’d become slightly concerned.

Cloning Collins’s phone in the first place was a difficult job. Murphy’s device took ages to break through the encryption and Bellamy could never find anything to talk to Collins about for long enough until finally, he asked about getting into the FBI. That got Collins talking but to this moment, Bellamy still had no idea if he actually tried to offend Bellamy when he said that you needed proper education and had to pass an extensive background check, of if he just didn’t realise how it sounded.

But at least they had the phone now.

Well, technically, Bellamy had it. The cheap smartphone they cloned it onto lived in his pocket for the time being and it refused to shut up. At first, Bellamy only scanned everything, looking for something related to the exhibition but then he noticed an exchange with someone named Princess and, again, he didn’t want to pry into Collins’s private life but it concerned him.

Whoever Princess was, she—Bellamy assumed—wasn’t interested in what Collins was selling. Collins spent almost two whole days trying to convince her to meet him and didn’t take no for an answer. Finally, she agreed to see him for coffee in one of the busiest cafes in the city. When Bellamy saw the location she proposed, he actually snickered because no one went to Grounders for anything more than a to-go order, it wasn’t a place you chose if you wanted to have a deep conversation. Nevertheless, Bellamy felt uneasy, following their exchange. Octavia would’ve called him an overprotective dick and on this occasion, he wouldn’t even argue. Sure, he too had CIs who cursed the ground he walked on but the tone of this relationship didn’t scream ‘professional’. If felt more like something you’d present to a judge when you’re asking for a restraining order. So, he worried. Collins wouldn’t be the first one to abuse his power and try to intimidate someone he was involved with and Bellamy just wanted to make sure that nothing bad was going to happen.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself when he parked in front of Grounders and watched as Collins jerked around in his seat in anticipation every time the door opened.

He was slowly starting to suspect that Princess decided to stand the guy up when the door opened again and a blonde woman walked in. She was wearing a big floppy hat and Bellamy couldn’t see her face at first, not until she stood in front of Collins’s table and took off her hat.

And Bellamy promptly choked on his tongue because there was Clarke Griffin, sitting down opposite of Collins, warding off his attempts to hug her hello. Bellamy grabbed the cloned phone and managed to unlock in before he remembered that it wasn’t a remote after all and he couldn’t turn on the microphone on Collins’s actual phone. So instead, he just sat there, watching as the girl who brought him to tears the other night, telling him about her work, had coffee with the FBI agent responsible for the security of the painting he was planning on stealing. 

_Fucking perfect._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which some questions are answered, some bonding happens and things get even more complicated.

Bellamy stewed for the rest of his shift. His first instinct was to just confront Clarke right then and there, while she was still in the café but he managed to calm himself down enough to remember how monumentally stupid that would be. Instead, he watched as she stayed with Collins for about fifteen minutes, mostly listened to what he was saying, her back stiff and apprehension clear on her face.

That only assure Bellamy that this must’ve been more business between them than personal. Otherwise, why would she ever agree to a meeting with Collins, if it was clearly the last place she wanted to be? Clarke didn’t seem like she’d want to maintain a relationship with someone like Collins just for the sake of having one, or worse, lead him on.

Or maybe Bellamy was just projecting. Maybe he wanted to see her as better than she really was, while instead, she decided to go behind his back and pre-emptively save her own ass. He trusted Dante when he proposed Clarke but who knows what kind of trouble she might’ve been in—otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have agreed to take part in a heist in the first place. And for all he knew, she could’ve figured out that turning in a cop for trying to steal a priceless masterpiece might buy her some good will with the FBI.

***

Bellamy stormed into Clarke’s studio and banged the door behind him so loud that she jumped in her seat and dropped the brush. Clarke turned around to look at him, her hand clutching at her chest, shooting lightnings from her eyes.

“Are you crazy?!” she snapped at him and bent down to pick up the brush from the floor. She tossed it over to the stool next to her. “I’m about to finish this one, do you really want me to accidentally paint a moustache on her?!”

Bellamy fumed and walked up to her.

“I don’t know, am I even gonna need it at all?”

“What?”

“Maybe this whole thing is gonna fall through, maybe we’ll all get turned in to the authorities and arrested soon, I don’t know!” Bellamy all but started shouting, while Clarke just looked at him more confused now, but no less irritated. “I saw you today, having coffee with a fucking _FBI agent_!”

Clarke tucked her chin into her neck, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “You’re _following_ me? How dare you?!”

“No, I’m not following _you_. I didn’t expect you there at all, so imagine my surprise when I saw you chatting up with the guy who’s gonna hunt our asses after the job!”

“Finn’s on the task force, protecting the exhibition?” Clarke sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, smudging a little bit of white paint above her brow. “Ugh, of course he is.”

Bellamy opened his mouth and closed it again without a word. He didn’t quite expect that reaction. He thought Clarke would defend herself or deny that it was even her but there was a resignation in her face, her shoulders slumped a little.

He cleared his throat.

“You didn’t know that?”

“No, I didn’t care and I didn’t ask. I just wanted to tell him to leave me alone.” Clarke pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away, out of the window. “I wasn’t meeting an FBI agent, Bellamy. I met with my ex-boyfriend who just can’t take a hint.”

And all of a sudden, the text on Collins’s phone started making perfect sense. The personal feel and yet the reluctance, it fit. But Bellamy was still a little buzzed with all that negative energy that’s been building up during the day and for that, it was hard for him to believe that it was that easy, that Clarke knowing Collins was just a coincidence.

“You never said anything,” he grumbled. Clarke threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve foreseen that you’d want to know everything about the guy I dated for three months almost a decade ago, who I only see whenever his job brings him to DC and only because I keep hoping that one of those days, he’s gonna accept that we won’t be getting back together!” Clarke exploded and moved her hand to the top of her head. Her fingers snagged into the flowery headband and she yanked it off, tendrils of hair falling down to frame her face. She blew one of the tendrils away from her eyes and exhaled loudly.

“And one more thing, if anyone here is in any danger of being thrown to the wolves if this goes sideways, it’s not you, decorated detective Blake with a nearly spotless record. All you’d have to do to get yourself out of this shit show would be to claim that you were just conducting an unofficial investigation, trying to find out who was involved and what the plan was and you’d get a slap on the wrists, maybe. I would be the one caught forging a priceless work of art. Why would I choose to expose myself, when as far as I know, no one even knows I’m involved in this in the first place?”

Clarke had run out of air during her rant and when she went silent, taking deep breaths of air and staring at Bellamy expectantly, he was at a loss, again. He felt like an idiot. Not because he’d accused her of betraying him—he’d seen those partnerships from every angle and understood them from inside out, and he knew you could never really trust your partner in crime. But he finally realised that instead of confronting her _after_ he’d confirmed his suspicions, he came after her without a shred of evidence and only because his pride was hurt and he was jealous.

And that realisation sobered him up more than anything. He walked over to one of the chairs and dropped onto in heavily. The wood whined under his weight.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, looking over at Clarke. Her faced softened but only enough for her brow to furrow with tiredness.

“Look, I get it,” she said, taking the chair opposite of him. “At least I’m trying to. But you have to admit that our positions here are not equal and it’s not easy for me to really trust you, either.”

Bellamy nodded his head lightly. Clarke looked at him in silence for a moment.

“Okay, if this is going to work out,” she finally continued, “then we need to be honest with each other. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about Finn and hopefully prove that he’s got nothing to do with this, at least not on _my_ end, but then _quid pro quo_ , you tell me about the plan. Everything about the plan—about your partner, about what you’re doing with him, and _especially_ about what you’re doing behind his back.”

Bellamy sized her up, her determined look, her hands curled into loose fists, resting on the table. And he knew that this was it, the moment where he had to decide if he could truly trust her and if he really wanted to. The moment when he’d have to choose if he wanted to have anything to do with her after the job was done.

So, he told her everything.

***

“Your turn,” Bellamy said when he finished explaining everything to Clarke and she no longer looked like she was still chewing on it. “How come a guy you broke up with ten years ago is still trying to win you back?”

Clarke pursed her lips and got up from her chair.

“I need a drink for that,” she said, walking to the kitchenette. She pulled out a bottle of vodka, poured herself a glass and downed the shot without a blink of an eye. She grabbed a second glass and brought it all back, slamming all the glass down on the table. “You probably won’t mind one, either.”

Bellamy grabbed the bottle from where Clarke put it down and poured himself a hefty drink. He sipped the vodka and cleared his throat when the drink went down. He looked from above the rim of the glass and saw as Clarke played with her own glass, her paint-stained fingers brushing against the side.

“Well, my first year of college, I met this really cute guy, who always knew what to say and what to do, and how to make a girl feel special—“ Clarke waved her hand with a flourish and a small shrug. “Well, as it turned out, he knew how to make many girls feel special. We were dating for all of three months when his high school girlfriend decided to surprise him and transfer from her community college.”

Clarke picked up her glass and finished her drink in one swig and Bellamy’s eyes bulged out. He looked into his own half-full glass and sloshed the liquid around. Clarke exhaled loudly, snapping Bellamy’s attention back to her. She caught his eye and sent him a tired look.

“We ended up as the most popular subject for rumours at the university, and that was just fantastic, to relive how it felt when the journalists would call us at all hours, asking about my dad.“ She grimaced and shook her head while Bellamy just looked at her.

“And that was Finn,” Bellamy stated. Clarke nodded her head slowly, her lips pursed.

“Yup,” she confirmed, popping the last letter. “Luckily, that was his final year and after he graduated, he went on to join the FBI, so at least that was that.”

Clarke poured more alcohol into both their glasses and leaned back in her chair with a crooked grin.

“Well, almost—now he just likes to invite me out for coffee, every time he comes into town, to tell me how much he still misses me and how he wishes we could try again,” she said and blew a raspberry.

Bellamy raised his glass again. “Have you thought about a restraining order?”

“Against an FBI agent?” Clarke snorted. “Yeah, that’s gonna happen. Besides, to get one, I’d have to feel threatened and I’m just annoyed, frankly. He’s not a bad guy, or a stupid one, he just doesn’t know when to quit. Which I suppose is why he’s good at his job. Probably doesn’t hurt that he could sell ice to penguins,” she explained. Bellamy let out a small, surprise snort and Clarke sent him a pleased smile.

“Anyway, that’s the story between me and the very special agent Finn Collins. I really didn’t know why he came to DC, I just wanted to get this over with. I would’ve told you, if I did.”

Bellamy nodded. “I believe you. And I’m sorry for attacking you the way I did, I was—”

“Worried?”

“Out of line. But yeah, worried was one of those things, too.”

Clarke puffed a laughter and Bellamy looked at his hands, a small smile fighting to come up. He'd rather not say that another thing he was feeling was a little jealousy.

“In the spirit of full transparency, I should probably admit that that’s the reason I agreed to come to that first meeting with you.” Clarke said, catching his attention again.

“Collins?” Bellamy exclaimed suddenly, in disbelief.

“Raven,” Clarke cleared up, shaking her head.

“Wai—Raven Reyes?!”

“Mhmm, yeah, she was that other girl Finn was seeing. She stayed at the university after he was gone and we became friends, actually. I know that she used to use her—erm—considerable technical talents to earn some money on the side.”

“Very diplomatically put—” Bellamy interjected. Clarke clicked her tongue.

“Anyway, when Dante told me everything about you, I asked Raven to check you out, see if you weren’t trying to run a scam on him.” Clarke raised an eyebrow. Bellamy hummed, not missing the irony. “But Raven said that she didn’t really need to do that ‘cause she knew you quite well, from the wild days of your criminal youth.”

Bellamy nearly choked on his drink when a short chortle escaped him. “It’s nice to know she still thinks so highly of me that she convinced you to come. Wow, I haven’t seen her in five years, probably.”

“She mentioned that, yes. But apparently, even as a thief, you were shockingly honourable, so I came. And here we are. Raven’s in California now, you know. She started her own cyber security company a couple of years ago and she’s doing ridiculously well,” Clarke informed her and Bellamy smiled, happy to hear the news.

In the meantime, Clarke unwound her hair from the braid and they fell down around her face like a halo, the setting sun illuminating her from behind, and Bellamy’s breath hitched in his throat. He must’ve been staring at her because she looked at him with her eyebrows scrunched. He looked away, feeling his neck heating up but chose to blame in on the booze. He promptly picked up the bottle and poured out the rest of the vodka between them. Clarke raised her glass to clink against his. It was only then that he realised how much they’d already drunk because the glasses collided with a loud noise and some of the vodka overflew onto their fingers.

Clarke downed her drink and got up from her chair, the legs scraping against the floor. She snorted lightly and when Bellamy moved in his seat, grinning at her, he noticed how much his own head was swimming. Clarke swayed on her feet for a moment but still managed to make it back to one of the kitchen cabinets, from which she pulled out another bottle of vodka. She swayed back to the table, giggling under her breath the whole way back and this time, Clarke dropped down onto a chair next to Bellamy.

She knocked the bottle against his elbow before she put it down on the table. She leaned over him to reach for her own glass and Bellamy’s senses were overwhelmed by the faint scent of her citrus shampoo and oil paint. She moved back then, her shoulder brushing against his. Bellamy looked sideways at her, blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, and the slight green reflexes in Clarke’s otherwise blue eyes were the last thing he truly remembered of that night.

***

The sun woke Bellamy up, shining straight into his eyes. He waved his hand over his head to grab at the curtains next to his bed and he hissed and swore when his hand hit something hard instead. He started moving around and only then did a thought fought its way through the fog in his brain, that there shouldn’t be that much sun in his bedroom this early in the morning anyway.

His eyes still firmly shut, hiding from the blinding sunlight, Bellamy turned around and instead of the rest of his mattress, there was a wall of rough pillows. Finally, Bellamy opened his eyes, blinking the sleep and the killer headache away. It took him a few seconds to realise that he was in fact laying on a couch, one he didn’t recognise.

He moved around, back to his original position, instantly regretting his choice when the light shone through the massive windows, intensifying his headache.

“Good morning, sunshine,” a voice came from behind the couch, surprising Bellamy so much that he nearly rolled off of the couch. He barely stopped himself, propping his arm on the floor and the sudden movement moved all of his insides around, making him groan out loud.

The person behind him chortled loudly and then, he recognised the voice and the whole of last night came back to him. Well, almost all of it. He looked around the room and not recognising one single thing about it, he realised he couldn’t remember how did he get there or even where _there_ was.

“Where am I?” he asked, moving carefully and sitting up on the couch. He turned around and followed Clarke with his eyes as she walked around the kitchen table situated in the corner, picked up two mugs and came up to him. She handed him one of the mugs and once he was finally brave enough to take a deep breath, Bellamy recognised the life-giving smell of fresh coffee. He closed his eyes again.

“My place,” Clarke informed him as she sat down in the arm chair to his right. They both stayed quiet for a few minutes while they drank their coffee. After a few gulps, Bellamy finally started to feel more like an actual person and he opened his eyes again. Clarke noticed he was still squinting and got out of her seat to pull the curtains over the widows.

“I live below my studio, I brought you here last night when it became very clear that if you took a cab home, you might’ve ended up somewhere in the middle of a desert, probably.”

Bellamy laughed shortly but it was too loud even for his own ears. He dropped his head to the back of the couched and lolled it sideways to look at Clarke who was now back to her armchair.

“What time is it?”

“Saturday, so I assume it’s your day off and you’re not planning on handling a gun today.” Clarke raised a questioning eyebrow. Bellamy made an unrecognisable noise and nodded.

“How are you so awake?” he asked with a groan. “I’m pretty sure you drank more than me, you should be dying, like I am.”

Clarke bit her lip but her eyes squinted in a barely contained smile. “Unlike you, I'm still young and beautiful.” She sent him a toothy grin and he couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Bellamy finished his coffee and still yawned loudly, his jaw cracking. His head was once again supported by the back of the couch and now his arms were hanging loose at his sides, his entire body feeling like it weighed a ton.

“You should go get a shower, I’ll make you something to eat,” Clarke offered. Bellamy’s first instinct was to tell her not to bother because he’d much rather he just stay where he was and wait for death but then he looked down at his wrist watch, which he only just remembered about and realising that it was already noon, he figured he should just get out of her hair.

“You don’t need to worry about the food but I'll definitely take that shower,” he said, leaning forward, trying to get up but the first attempt didn’t go very well. “In a minute, when I figure out how to get up.”

Clarke smiled at him gently and got up herself.

“Wait here for a moment, I’ll try to find you something to wear,” she said and patted him on the shoulder when she walked past him on her way deeper into the flat. “Just beware, I only have some painting shirts in your size so that might be a gamble on whether or not you can show yourself in public in them.” She raised her voice a little as she walked down the corridor. Bellamy hummed in agreement but he was pretty sure she couldn’t hear him anymore.

When she came back, there was a colourful towel in her hand. By then, he was finally able to get up and stay mostly vertical. Leading him to the bathroom, Clarke handed him the towel and when Bellamy unravelled the bundle in the bathroom, he discovered a bright pink t-shirt for a breast cancer awareness charity. It was a little tight on him but it was incredibly soft and with the remnants of sleep washed off of his faced, he still looked well enough in it.

When he left the bathroom, the tv was on, a news service was about halfway through and there were two plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast waiting on the coffee table. His hangover tried to convince him to ditch the breakfast and just curl into a ball and go back to sleep but it was very quickly drowned by a rumble in his stomach.

Clarke walked from the kitchen with another mug of coffee for him. For a split second, Bellamy very nearly leaned over and kissed her.

Out of gratitude, of course. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he noticed that she was now wearing a loose, low-cut dress with an asymmetrical skirt that whirled around her legs every time she moved. And it was definitely not because her hair was freshly washed as well and slowly drying, framing her face with the softest curls that made his fingers itch with a desire to tuck one of the tendrils behind her ear.

He cleared his throat and took the mug from her before she could notice he was staring. He dropped heavily onto the couch and started shovelling his breakfast in. Clarke ate hers with much more grace and she even managed to pick up a remote and find some MASH reruns.

They were halfway through the season by the time they were nearing dinnertime. He wasn’t sure how he managed to stay awake for this long but he suspected it may have been thanks to the buckets of coffee and snacks that Clarke kept feeding to him. Not to mention the easy conversation flowing between them, only occasionally interrupted by outbursts of laughter when they both paid attention to the tv every once in a while.

Bellamy tried to leave when Clarke mentioned it was time to eat something more substantial than crackers but she just waved her hand at him and asked him what toppings he wanted on his pizza while she was already dialling her favourite place.

By the time his headache dispersed completely, it was nearly 8 pm and Bellamy finally managed to convince Clarke that he was feeling well enough to be left alone and that he could drive himself back home. She still made him promise that he’d text her the moment he got home. Amazingly, he actually did remember to do that before he dragged himself to bed and collapsed onto it. When she answered with a smiley face, he grinned at his phone and the last thing that crossed his mind before he fell asleep was that despite the killer hangover, that day was the least stressed he’d been since Murphy came back into his life and pulled him into the heist.

***

Clarke’s phone pinged with a notification and she was jolted in her seat, so focused on painting over the background so that it was mismatched just perfectly. She grabbed the hem of her sleeve with her teeth and pulled it up her arm and tried to get as much skin onto the phone as possible. Finally, she was able to hit the home button with her elbow and the screen lit up for long enough that she could read the beginning of a text from Dante telling her he’d be there soon.

Maybe twenty minutes later, he let himself into her building and came into her studio, two large painting carriers hanging from his shoulders. Clarke exhaled with relief.

“Thank you!” she sighed dropping the brush and wiping the paint off her hands. She came up to the carriers and picked one of them up to size it up. “I couldn’t find the right size anywhere and it’s not like we can have _that_ sticking out over the top.”

Clarke looked over at Dante and frowned a little when she noticed him shooting her an amused look.

“What?”

Dante shrugged. “You said ‘we’, Clarke,” he said and slightly surprised, Clarke had to admit he was right. “You’re engaged, excited, it’s great. I haven’t seen you like that in a while, not since you broke up with Lexa.”

Clarke took a sharp breath.

“It’s great that I’m involved in grand larceny?” she chuckled, skipping over the mention of her ex-girlfriend. Over a year later, it was still a sore subject.

“Anything that makes you happy,” Dante cleared up and walked over to her easel to examine her work. He hummed in approval as he looked it over, a satisfied smile on her lips. Clarke straightened up with pride.

Finally, he looked away from the painting and his sight landed on the old vodka bottles she and Bellamy emptied out last Friday. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced over at Clarke with a smirk.

“Or maybe it’s not just a job, maybe it’s about a boy, too,” Dante teased. Clarke pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Or maybe I’m not thirteen anymore,” she countered but she could feel herself blush, just a little bit.

Dante ignored her quip, went over to her kitchenette and prepared tea for the both of them while Clarke took off her thin blue protective overcoat and washed up. When the tea was ready, they both sat down at her table and both looked at the nearly ready first painting.

Clarke noticed the calculating look in her teacher’s eyes and frowned.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked slowly.

“Eduardo de Valfierno,” Dante mumbled, not looking at her.

“The man who allegedly masterminded the _Mona Lisa_ scam? That’s not quite what we’re doing here.”

“Hmm, but it’s close enough.” Now, he turned his head and looked at Clarke. “We could make it work.”

“No, we can’t,” Clarke disagreed with a whine. “It took me the whole month to paint this one and I only have another month to do the other one, a third is literally impossible.”

“Not if I helped. We’ve still got the third drawer which means another panel, the paints are not a problem and I don’t teach anymore so I don’t have tests to grade – time’s not the issue for me.”

Clarke stared at him dumbfounded.

“Well, clearly you have it all figured out. But then what? You’re just gonna ask around if anyone wants to buy a hot painting?”

Dante snorted despite himself. He dug into his pockets, pulled out a handful of papers and passed it to Clarke. She spread out what turned out to be print outs of an article about Sanctum Development. Clarke skimmed the article where the company’s CEO talked about future investments but she couldn’t see the connection. She laid down the papers on the table between her and Dante.

“What does Russell Lightbourne have to do with anything?”

“You remember that old theatre in my neighbourhood, where the drama department practiced voice emission and everyone used for rehearsals?” Dante asked and when Clarke nodded, he tapped the article with his pointer finger. “Lightbourne plans to buy it and demolish it, he wants to put a new shopping mall in its place. But if we had enough funds, we could buy it from under him and restore it.”

“Have you any idea how much that would cost?!” Clarke exclaimed.

“Probably around as much as the right masterpiece.”

Clarke huffed a laughter. “You want to sell a fake Vinci to Russell _fricking_ Lightbourne? The man who would modernise Colosseum if given a chance, he’s gonna buy a renaissance painting?”

“He would for his daughter,” Dante explained as he shuffled the pages and picked up the one with another interview, with Lightbourne’s daughter Josephine this time. She spoke about her collection of priceless artifacts and first editions. Clarke immediately rolled her eyes. Growing up the way she did, she spent a lot of time with the most spoilt kids she’d ever met in her whole life and Josephine was the cream of the crop, so it seemed.

To learn that she led her life now spending her father’s money and quickly as he was making them, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Nor was the assumption that if she bragged about all the things she acquired legally, there must also a part of her collection that is not destined for the public eye. Dante cocked his chin out, both of them clearly thinking about the same thing.

“You really think she’s gonna go for it?” Clarke asked and Dante dipped his head in confirmation. Clarke still wasn’t sure though. “Didn’t you tell Bellamy that you weren’t able to paint something like that anymore. You sure you can pull it off?”

“Not well enough to fool whatever expert will be accompanying the exhibition on this tour but I’m pretty sure I make it convincing for a socialite.”

Clarke blew a raspberry and snorted lightly because Dante looked positively giddy. Not quite the emeritus professor everyone knew him to be. Clarke shook her head in resignation. She finished her tea, slapped her thighs and got up from her chair.

“Should I pack your drawer to go?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which feelings blossom, we learn a little history and a very important painting gets stolen--finally.

The two weeks before the exhibition arrived at DC’s Azgeda building passed almost in a blur for Bellamy. He’d given Collins’s cloned phone to Murphy soon after his argument with Clarke and since the plan was all mapped out already, there was nothing left for him to do but wait for the call.

On the other hand, the quieter things got with Murphy, the more hectic they were at work. Collins’s task force set up shop in the neighbouring precinct but that didn’t mean he wasn’t visiting as often as possible and driving everyone crazy with his insistence to go over the procedure at every chance he got. It wasn’t the easiest thing for Bellamy to school his expression every time he was being told exactly what to avoid on the day of the heist. It didn’t do much to calm his nerves though, because no matter how much he disliked Collins, the man did do a good job and getting away with the painting wouldn’t be easy.

Clarke ended up being his saving grace, frankly. Ever since he’d told her everything about the plan and the players, they’d been growing closer and closer, and having her to confide in was invaluable. But having her as a friend, that he couldn’t describe.

He found himself visiting her studio as often as he could, just to watch her paint. The first painting was already framed and just waiting to be used and now that she had some practice, Clarke was slightly more relaxed, doing the other, so spending time with her was even more fun than before. He was also able to catch her looking at him a little more often now. And every once in a while, she’d sent him that warm, brilliant smile that made him blush every time.

Two days after the exhibition opened in DC, Bellamy received a call from Murphy, who informed him that Collins’s phone was blowing up with updates and they needed to start preparing themselves. Bellamy immediately put in for the whole weekend off, just to have enough wiggle room and after work, he automatically drove over to Clarke’s.

He parked in front of her building and as he let himself in, a funny thought popped into his head, about how much like home this place started to feel.

When he went up to her studio, he was greeted by a curious sight. The first painting was taken out of the frame and put on a sturdier easel. In front of it, there was a stool with an old, worn-out leather boot on top. Clarke was no-where to be seen but Bellamy wasn’t bothered, he just dropped his things onto the armchair he usually occupied at came up the easel. When Clarke finally appeared on his left, he had the boot in hand, wondering where the hell did she get it from because it looked like it was decades old.

Clarke sauntered up to him and when she stood by his side, Bellamy was overtaken by the scent of her perfume. He looked at her with a smile. Clarke grinned back and, taking advantage of him being distracted, grabbed the boot and took it from him.

“What is that?” Bellamy asked with a confused laugh.

“That is one authentic Wehrmacht boot, just came in to help me break the painting,” she announced and Bellamy’s jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

Clarke held the boot by the bootstrap and tapped it against her knee. She hummed.

“Well, the painting is cracked, it is said that it happened in 1939, when the Germans found the hidden collection and one of the soldiers stepped on it. And then it was taken to the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin, only to be brought back to Kraków in 1940 by the general governor Hans Frank who hanged it in his headquarter at the Wawel Castle. He took it with him, among other things, when he fled at the end of the war. It didn’t come back home until over a year later,” Clarke explained and Bellamy listened with bated breath. Frankly, the Second World War was never his area of expertise, much less the history of robbed artwork, and now he swallowed all the knowledge that Clarke had to offer.

“Anyway, the painting’s got a crack, so mine has to have one as well,” she said casually, raised her arm with the booth in hand and swung. And Bellamy nearly had a heart attack.

He grabbed her by the arm, already seeing in his head the painting breaking in half, splinters flying everywhere. His left hand firmly on her wrist, he caught the swinging boot with his right and only then did he breathe.

“What are you doing?!” he exclaimed, voice unusually high. And then he noticed Clarke’s lips pressed together, the corners of her mouth twitching, her shoulders shaking slightly. Finally she couldn’t hold it any longer, she broke and started laughing. Bellamy’s hand loosened around her wrist but he didn’t let go. She dropped the boot and grabbed his hand instead, her forehead resting against his sternum, still laughing loudly.

“Oh, you’re so cute,” she said, looking up at him, her chin now propped up on his clavicle. “Did you really think that I’d just smash the best painting I’ve ever done, what if it cracked in a different place, or broke altogether? I’ll do it by hand later.”

Bellamy huffed. “So, what was this all about?”

“I couldn’t pass us this opportunity, I _knew_ you’re freak out. Dante spent the whole weekend looking for his old uniform he brought from Vietnam but it was so worth it!”

“Not for me, it wasn’t!” Bellamy still pouted but the smile lit up Clarke’s whole face, her eyes were glowing, and it was getting hard for him to keep feigning distress.

Clarke moved her head away and straightened up, so that she was almost on the eye level with him. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, surged forward and kissed his cheek. She stayed inches away from his face, looking at him with her lips slightly parted. Then, she somehow stepped even closer into his space, her warm breath caressing the skin on his jaw.

Bellamy moved his head ever so slightly, clutching her wrist harder again. Clarke let out a strangled breath and when her eyes dropped to his mouth, he moved. His lips only brushed hers at first but when she didn’t step away, he pressed further and so did she. Their lips met and for a split second, Bellamy’s mind went blank. He was overwhelmed by her softness, her warmth and the low hum that may have very well come from him, he couldn’t tell. He closed his eyes and without thinking, moved his hand from her wrist to the small of her back and only when Clarke gasped into his mouth did he notice that her arm was now flung around his neck, her fingers clutching at his hair.

When he opened his eyes, Clarke was already moving away but only so much that she could come up for air, her chest moving heavily against his. She took Bellamy’s hand again, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. Her eyes were down but when Bellamy moved his hand up her back, fingers pressing against her spine, Clarke looked up, lip between her teeth.

Bellamy dropped her hand, cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over her lower lip, releasing it from between her teeth. He heard her gasp and when she put her hand over his, fingers twitching, he kissed her again. Quicker now, harder, more demanding. He took her lower lips, tender form her teeth, between his lips and he groaned when he felt her tongue on his upper lip. Bellamy opened up for her and Clarke let go of his hand, threw her other arm around his neck as well and pressed her entire body against his.

The next time they separated, Bellamy brought both of his hands to her waist and pushed down until they brushed over her ass and all the way to the back of her thighs. He hoisted her up, her knees bracketing his hips. His first thought was to carry her over to the table but when Clarke noticed, she moved her lips from his jaw to his ear.

“Take me to my bed,” she rasped and it sent chills down his spine. Bellamy growled into her neck and manoeuvred her legs around his sides. Clarke crossed her ankles and tightened her hold on his neck, pressing small kisses against his jaw. It was all Bellamy could do to carry her down the stairs to her flat before he combusted.

***

Bellamy woke up the next morning and something was different again. The mattress was softer than he was used to, he could hear the noises from the street that were too busy for his own neighbourhood. Oh, and there was a soft, warm body pressed against his side.

Clarke had an arm wrapped around his elbow, her face was tucked against his shoulder. When Bellamy started moving, he pulled the duvet down her back. Clarke shivered lightly and burrowed herself even more tightly into his warmth. Bellamy could barely keep his eyes open but he couldn’t stop smiling. He checked the bedside clock and only stiffened for a split second before he remembered that he didn’t have a shift that day.

Clarke hummed against him and Bellamy looked at her, her face smooth and relaxed. He shifted to his side, threw his arm around Clarke’s back and pulled her into his embrace. The last thing he felt was her hand clutching at his elbow and then, he was asleep again.

***

The next time he woke up, Clarke was no longer sleeping right beside him. Instead, she sat at the edge of his side of the bed, wearing a thin, flowery dressing gown and running her fingers through his hair. She smiled when she noticed he had his eyes open and almost started to purr and nuzzle into her hand. Clarke put a mug of coffee on the stool she used as a bedside table.

“Come on, there’s more where that came from,” she said, pointing at the mug with her chin. Her fingers didn’t leave his hair until Bellamy sat up on the bed. He caught the hand before she pulled it back and squeezed her fingers. Clarke ducked her head, biting her lip and with the first conscious thought of the day, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. He could still taste the tartness of the apple she must’ve just had for breakfast.

Clarke hummed against his lips and pulled back smiling.

“Time to get up, we’ve got plans,” she announced getting up from the bed. Bellamy followed quickly after her, grabbing his clothes on his way to the shower.

An hour later, he was sitting in the passenger seat of Clarke’s car trying to find out where they were going. She just grinned every time he asked, until she parked the car in front of the Azgeda building. Bellamy nearly had a stroke.

“What are we doing here?!” he wheezed, his eyes bulging out.

“We’re going to meet the Lady that started this whole mess,” Clarke explained, unfazed and got out of the car. For a moment, Bellamy hoped that she’d just let him stay inside but she walked around, opened his door and pursed her lips.

“I understand that you’re worried about being seen at the scene of the crime beforehand but I promise, we won’t look like we’re casing the place.”

Bellamy opened his mouth and then closed it a couple of times but he had nothing. Finally, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pointedly ignored Clarke’s triumphant grin as she offered him her hand. She still held it as they walked into the building and she led him straight to the exhibition room. At this time of the day, in the middle of the week, it wasn’t crowded, so they were able to stroll from one painting to the other, accompanied by Clarke’s constant commentary as she talked about everything they saw.

And then finally, they reached the _Lady with an Ermine_. It was cordoned off with a thick velvet rope and, as Bellamy noticed while they walked around, every time someone approached the painting, a very serious-looking security guide the size of four regular people straightened up and put his hand right next to his holster.

“It’s a good thing you’re not ripping it off of the wall,” Clarke whispered into his ear. Bellamy’s head snapped back to her, his eyes wide. She cocked her head to the side with a light giggle. “Oh, relax, Bell, and just enjoy it.” She looked away from him and back at the painting.

Bellamy took a deep breath, forced himself to stop clocking every move the security guard made and wrapped Clarke’s arm around his elbow.

“Okay, then. What about her?” he asked, shaking his head to clear his mind.

“Cecilia Gallerani.” Clarke said, her voice back to that lecturing timbre she’s been using for the whole exhibition, the one that completely hypnotised him. Clarke cleared her throat and dug her fingers into his biceps. “She was the mistress of Leonardo’s patron, Ludovico Sforza. He was a prince, the Duke on Milan in late 15th century. Now, he was called—“

“ _Il Moro_ ,” Bellamy interjected. Clarke looked at him with raised eyebrows and a surprised smile. “I wanted to major in history, before I dropped out,” he explained with a self-conscious huff and scratched the back of his head. “I guess something stuck.” Bellamy shrugged. Clarke was still looking at him with bright eyes and Bellamy had to knock his hip against hers to snap her back to her lecture.

“Yes,” she finally continued. “He was also called _Ermelino_ , the ermine,” Clarke pointed at the painting, “which was his heraldic animal. It is believed that it was put in the painting to reference her lover but also to hide her pregnancy, seeing how she’d given birth to Sforza’s son soon after.”

“We don’t know what happened to the panting after that until 1798, when Prince Adam Czartoryski bought it for her mother, Izabela, who incorporated it into her very impressive collection. But I don’t think she liked it all that much, she had the background painted over—and not very well, may I add,” Clarke huffed and leaned into his side, so she could whisper into his ear, “and it’s a bitch to copy, by the way. _Twice_.”

Bellamy chuckled and quickly turned his face towards her, so he could catch her for a quick kiss. When he pulled back, there was a beautiful blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?” Bellamy asked. Clarke shook her head lightly.

“Nah, I TA’d a few classes for Dante, when he was still teaching, that was the limit of my patience,” she explained. She rested her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath. For a long moment, they just stood in front of the masterpiece they would steal in a matter of days and just looked at it, admiring.

Bellamy had never been an art lover, he’d always seen it more as a chronicle of human history. But standing here, in front of something so important, knowing all those little details about it, he was finding a new appreciation of the arts. But if he were honest, that was less because of the painting itself, beautiful as it was, and more about the woman standing by his side.

He knew from the start that she would not be someone he could easily forget after the job was done but this was so beyond anything he ever expected. At this point, he was trying very hard to convince himself that it was way too soon and way too insane to admit that he was falling for her. But he was failing.

Bellamy had no idea how long they stood in front of the Lady, until finally Clarke made a small sound at the back of her throat.

“I can’t believe that she’s actually here,” she said quietly, voice sounding a little off, like she wasn’t quite aware she was saying it out loud. “I mean, she doesn’t leave the country, period. The loans of that painting are _banned_. And hey, I’ve never liked Nia very much but this is impressive. I can’t even imagine how she pulled it off,” Clarke mused, voice trailing off. She had an incredulous look on her face.

She turned to look at Bellamy again and she surprised him with a pleading look in her eyes.

“Please, be careful with it,” Clarke asked, voice strained. Bellamy felt himself nodding before he could even think about it.

“Don’t worry, I have no interest in going down in history as the man who wrecked a Vinci,” he teased which luckily, chased the worry off of her face. Clarke laughed despite herself, her fingers still wrapped around his arm, brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his biceps. And yet, Bellamy was certain that wasn’t why he felt tingling at the base of his spine.

They walked around the gallery for a little while longer, Clarke still tucked into his side. They reached the end of the exhibition and Clarke’s commentary relaxed Bellamy enough that along the way, he started to add some of his own. And it didn’t escape him that Clarke never stopped smiling.

When they finished their tour, they walked out of Azgeda and Bellamy found himself somewhat surprised that he wasn’t nearly as stressed anymore. As they walked back to Clarke’s car, she looked up at him and sniggered. “You know, you act like this is the most annoying thing that’s ever happened to you but you gotta admit it, it’s fun. Planning that heist, organizing everything, you’re having fun.”

“I’m being blackmailed,” Bellamy huffed, looking at her with a grimace but she clearly, didn’t buy it.

“Oh, come on, you don’t really believe that Murphy would snitch on you.”

“You don’t even know him. Hell, after six years, I barely do.”

Clarke hummed. “You’re slightly biased. And I asked Raven about him, too—she said I could trust him. And besides, he and I are on the same boat,” she pointed out unlocking her car. They climbed in and Clarke continued. “Whatever you did, even if Murphy’s got proof, the statute of limitation must be up already. And what would he do with it, anyway? He’s on parole, he’s not gonna waltz into a police station and implicate himself in other crimes. And I don’t think he’d do that to a friend whom he covered for once before.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. When Bellamy said nothing, she smiled triumphantly, taking his silence as an agreement. Which, honestly, she was right to do. Threatening to rat Bellamy out was a dick move but that was just Murphy—and it wasn’t really why he agreed to help him, anyway. The debt of gratitude he owed Murphy was so grand that he probably would’ve agreed to anything, no matter how much complaining it took.

Clarke started the car and wiggled her eyebrows at him. Bellamy pursed his lips but couldn’t stop a smile. He just crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. Clarke started humming to a song that’s come on the radio, she shot him a glance, eyes shining with happiness, and something very warm and fuzzy planted itself right next to his heart.

***

Three days before the DC leg of the tour was supposed to end, Murphy finally texted with the date. The message only said “ _Friday is game day_ ” but it still made Bellamy stiffen and look around precinct as if it’s been announced to everyone on shift. Bellamy hoped that he managed to hide any more of his reaction but he wasn’t sure if he’d done a very good job because Miller still sent him an unimpressed look.

A series of texts from Murphy informed him that the exhibition would shut on Thursday evening, the paintings would be taken to a vault immediately but they won’t be packed into their secure transport van until it arrived at noon the next day—giving Bellamy and Murphy a rather small window of opportunity to grab the Lady on her way from the vault to the armoured van.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

But still, before they could do anything, they still had to hide their copy of the painting somewhere in the building, so that they could switch them quickly and easily. Bellamy had picked both of the paintings the morning before the job when he left Clarke’s before going to work. She helped him hide one of them in the empty compartment for the spare wheel and the other in the boot, under a blanket, in the most non-descript sedan that Murphy liberated from a the long-term parking near the airport and as soon and the Azgeda building cleared of most of the employees, the two of them, wearing janitor uniforms, drove into the underground parking.

Murphy went to grab one of the carts and before he came back, Bellamy took the carrier out and placed it behind the car, away from the prying eyes. When Murphy came back with the cart, they hid the painting in an empty bin and rolled away as calmly as they could, not to draw anyone’s attention. Murphy steered them straight to a supply closet closest to the loading bay and tucked it behind one of the shelves.

Bellamy fussed about the placing of it, trying to push it even further before Murphy finally pulled him away, hissing that if he hid it any better, they’d need a search and rescue team to retrieve it the next day.

They dropped the car off somewhere halfway between Azgeda and Murphy’s flat, and Bellamy walked the rest of the way to where he parked his own car.

And then, before he even realised what he was doing, he was standing in front of Clarke’s building. He was supposed to spend the night at home, get enough sleep and behave as normally as possible but he wasn’t exactly surprised by where he ended up. Ever since they visited the exhibition, they spent nearly every night together, save from a couple of night shifts he pulled in the meantime. And the closer they got to the day of the heist, the more Bellamy realised what a marvel it was to have her in his life. Somehow, she was always able to help him relax or just distract him when he started panicking about the job. Bellamy wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to do it without her.

When he looked up, the lights were off in Clarke’s studio but there was a warm glow coming from her living room window. Bellamy slowly climbed the stairs to her floor, suddenly feeling exhausted like he’d never felt before.

Clarke opened her door with a surprise in her eyes but when she saw him, she just smiled a warm, comforting smile and took him by his hand. Without a word, she turned all the lights off in the living room and led him to her bedroom. There was a fleeting moment when Bellamy thought how crazy it was that he’d already had a toothbrush at her place but all that was forgotten when they settled down on the bed. Bellamy laid down with his head on her stomach and the gentle way Clarke brushed her fingers though his hair and her steady heartbeat finally calmed him down enough to fall asleep.

***

Friday, at 10 am exactly, Bellamy got into their “borrowed” car, picked Murphy on the way, and they both drove to the Azgeda building. He parked near the back entrance to the underground parking and waited for Emori to arrive.

Half past 11, Emori drove in a delivery van that she’d stolen from a local shipping company while he and Murphy were hiding their painting away. They watched as she drove into the loading bay and as soon as she disappeared from their sight, they exited the car and snuck into the underground parking, wearing the same janitor’s uniforms as they did the night before and carrying small backpacks.

Murphy pulled out yet another device from his pocket and entered a long code into it. As soon as the device beeped and a green light lit up, he relaxed a bit and signalled for Bellamy to follow him. They were both wearing earpieces and were able to listen to what was going on in the loading bay through the microphone Emori had on her.

“ _well, I don’t know who ordered this,”_ they heard Emori say, her voice becoming irritated, just as they planned when they decided on the distraction she would create. “ _And frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that if someone doesn’t sign for it, I can’t leave it and if I have to take it back, I don’t get paid for the delivery. So I ain’t leaving here until someone takes it off my hands!”_ She was almost yelling by then and finally, someone from Azgeda agreed to take the package she’d delivered. There was some indistinct chatter from some man, followed by another irritated remark from Emori. Murphy smirked when she thanked everyone for their business after putting the package as close to the people inside as she could manage with enough snark in her voice that they could almost see her expression.

And Bellamy had to admit, she had done a tremendous job. She was wearing the proper uniform with the company cap, covering most of her face and enough stage make up to last the whole cast of _Cats_ but her tattoo was not visible and she acted perfectly as the most tired and irritable delivery worker.

The moment they heard her enter her truck, Bellamy and Murphy jogged to the back door of the loading bay. Before she started the truck, they heard Emori saying _far right corner_ – and then she was off. They waited for her signal and when she’d driven far enough, Murphy grabbed the device again and entered another code.

And then, all hell broke loose.

They heard the small explosion through the door, followed by shouting, then coughing and by the time the gas had knocked everyone out, the two of them had already put their gas masks on and entered the loading bay.

Murphy ran straight to the paintings, already sorted into their casing but still unsealed, but Bellamy paused in his tracks, looking around, hoping to confirm that everyone was okay, just unconscious. When it became clear that they were all in fact still breathing, he joined Murphy, who was flipping through all the casings. Bellamy looked at them all and went straight for the one in the back, the only that was the correct size. He almost smiled when he saw the top of the frame, the same as the one that Clarke made him help her with. Bellamy called Murphy over and the both pulled the painting out of the casing, as gently as they were able to while pressed on time and running on an almost blinding amount of adrenaline.

Once the painting was out, they looked it over for the GPS tracker Collins had told his task force about. Finally, Bellamy noticed the tiny sticker in the corner at the back. He took it off and put it in his pocket, nodding at Murphy that it was time to leave.

They ran to the back door again and when they closed it behind them, they ripped off their masks. There wasn’t much time for them to catch their breath, though. They carried the Lady to the closet where their fake was stashed.

They got inside, locked the door behind them and while Murphy took off his uniform, revealing his street clothes underneath, Bellamy pulled out their fake from behind the shelves, almost fainting when he couldn’t reach it at the first try.

“Told you not to shove it so far up there,” Murphy grumbled from behind him but Bellamy could barely even hear him, everything was drowned down by the deafening sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Bellamy pulled out their fake and took the GPS sticker out of his pocket. He turned the painting over, found the right spot and stuck it to their fake. Murphy stashed his uniform and his gas mask in his backpack, and took the fake from Bellamy. He unlocked the door and left with the fake to stash it somewhere in the other direction from the underground parking.

While he was gone, Bellamy took his uniform off and hid it in his backpack, with the mask. When he waited, Bellamy crouched in front of the painting, leaning against the wall. And it was unbelievable. He’d spent the last two months watching Clarke paint two copies of it and then he’d actually seen it on the wall just a few days ago. But looking at it now, being able to touch it, to, trace the crack Clarke’d mention with the pads of his fingers, it was a feeling unlike any other. And if nothing else had done before, this definitely would’ve convinced him that he was right and that his plan was good.

Bellamy brushed his fingers against the frame. Then, Murphy returned and Bellamy got up. Each of them grabbed one corner of the paining, they left the closet and all but ran back to the parking. By then, it was completely empty—just as they expected, in the chaos they’d created, every security guard was called to the loading bay to regroup. They left the parking and while Bellamy hid with the painting behind garbage bins, Murphy brought the car around. Bellamy opened the boot and packed the painting into the carrier Clarke had lent him. He covered it with a blanket again, jumped into the passenger seat and Murphy drove off—slowly, inconspicuously.

Murphy drove them through the back streets and when they finally re-joined the traffic several blocks away, Bellamy looked down at his watch.

20 minutes. That’s how long it’s taken them to steal a literally priceless masterpiece.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the investigation starts and the further they go, the stranger things get.

Finn Collins stood in the middle of the loading bay of the Azgeda building, not sure if he should yell, rip all his hair out or maybe just cry.

That last one was a shamefully strong contender.

By the time he arrived on the scene, Metro Police had already secured it and moved the collection back into the vault, where it stayed, surrounded by half a dozen police officers and twice as many Azgeda security guards.

All the workers knocked out during the robbery were taken to the hospital and luckily, they were all awake already. Unfortunately, they all had the same useless thing to say – that the last thing they remembered was a young woman delivering a package. Or maybe she wasn’t so young. But she definitely had brown hair. Or maybe it was black. And she was absolutely white. But maybe Latina.

The only thing they all agreed on was that she drove off, they all heard a loud noise and then they all woke up in hospital. But that he already knew himself, the technicians had found the remains of a cardboard box and a couple of cans of whatever incapacitating agent the robbers used.

They had nothing and Finn could already see the rest of his career spent in some warehouse, logging evidence and filing endless amounts of paperwork.

He grit his teeth but stopped when he heard his mother’s voice in his head telling him to knock it off. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Where the hell is that guy with that GSP receiver?” he called out to the room, not really expecting the answer. He knew that receiver was locked in Nia Frost’s personal safe and she was out of town at the time—which meant tracking down whoever was making decisions in her stead.

Finally, one of his junior agents raced into the bay, barely able to catch his breath. Finn took about a second to try and remember his name but gave up. It was something ridiculous, anyway. Avon? Annex? Whatever.

Finn snatched the receiver, trying his best not to show how much his hands were shaking. But when he finally picked the right painting to track he wasn’t able to keep the shock off of his face.

“That can’t be right,” he muttered to himself and stood in spot for another minute before he snapped out of the shock and bolted out of the bay, shouting at others to follow him. He flew down the corridor towards the elevators and nearly ran into the wall when the receiver told him to make a turn, into a back corridor.

And then, behind a large ornate plant pot, there it was.

The painting stood propped against the wall, facing it, so you couldn’t tell what it was at the first glance but Finn had no doubt. He pulled out a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket, put them on and almost grabbed the painting. He hesitated for a split second, his fingers clenching around thin air. If only Clarke could be here, see him recover one of her favourite paintings.

Finn cleared his throat and finally lifted the painting off of the floor. The GPS sticker was still firmly where he placed it at the beginning of the tour. He took a deep, calming breath, hoping he’d finally stop sweating bullets now.

“Is that—“ the junior agent asked, rather dumbly and finally, Finn remembered his name.

“That’s the Leonardo,” Finn told Atom and then turned towards the rest of his team. “Good news, everyone. We’ve recovered the painting!”

The relief on everyone’s faces was unbelievable and Finn could himself feel the pressure leave his body. Most of it, anyway.

“What the hell happened?!” someone shouted and all the eyes turned towards Finn, like somehow he could read the minds of those idiots who tried to rob them. He huffed and pursed his lips.

“We’re gonna have to ask them when we catch them, but I’d say they didn’t have a good enough escape route and when they realised they were trapped inside the building with no way out, they decided to ditch the loot and hope they could come back for it later,” Finn spun the theory, hoping he sounded convincing. Frankly, he wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case but if not, then what the fuck happened?

But for now, he’d just take the win.

***

Murphy spread himself over the armchair in Bellamy’s living room, a bottle of beer in his hand and an almost ecstatic smile on his face. The paintings were still burning a whole through the floor of the car but for now, their work was done. Bellamy himself was more tense than ever but he had to admit that they pulled off something amazing.

And then, his phone rang.

Bellamy left the room when he saw his captain’s name flashing across his screen. Somehow, he didn’t think that Pike and Murphy could exist on the same plane of reality without his world imploding on itself.

The call itself was short and succinct. All vacations were off and he was being called back to work. Bellamy swore under his breath while Pike explained the situation but agreed to come in as soon as possible. He didn’t exactly have any other choice. Short of claiming he was out of country or laying in a hospital bed, there was no excuse why he couldn’t help with the investigation—not like he could say that working his own robbery might just very well melt his brain.

“I have to go to the station, I was called back to work,” he announced to Murphy who nearly choked on his beer.

“What the fuck?! I thought you took the day off!” Murphy’s voice was high-pitched as he inquired between coughs.

“I did,” Bellamy confirmed, “but you see, this very famous painting was stolen this morning and this is an ‘all hands on deck’ kind of a situation.”

Murphy sent him a withering glare but got up from the armchair and gathered his things. “I’m coming with you, I’m gonna take the painting already.”

Bellamy led the way into his garage where their “borrowed” sedan sat right next to his own car. He opened the boot and ran his hand over the blanket covering the painting but didn’t lift it up. Instead, Bellamy reached for the handle of the spare tire compartment and raised the boot floor. He glanced over to where Murphy stood but his partner was distracted with an old photo album he pick up from one of the boxes. Bellamy reached inside and grabbed the second painting carrier. He yanked it out of the car, lowered the floor and readjusted the blanket when it moved and revealed the other carrier. He shut the boot lid quickly and the sound attracted Murphy’s attention. He took the carrier from Bellamy and swung in over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna come by tomorrow and take the car back to the parking lot,” Murphy promised. Bellamy nodded his head and watched as Murphy took the painting to his own car and drove off. When he was sure Murphy was gone, Bellamy opened the boot again, pulled out the first carrier and hid it behind his shelved in the back of the garage.

Bellamy climbed into his car but froze for a moment before he even put the key in. He stared at the shelves and even though no-one could even see there was anything behind, to him, it looked like there was a great big arrow pointing at them. He dropped his head, his forehead landing on the steering wheel, and sighed. He couldn’t wait for this whole thing to be over.

***

Next day, Bellamy was still at his desk at the station and he watched the rest of the squad while they watched an Azgeda PR director give a press conference about how the rest of the tour had to be delayed due to technical difficulties. He drummed his fingers against his armrest and looked around the room, where the mood was tense. On one hand, everyone was understandably relieved, thinking that the thieves had failed and the painting was safe—but then, it was a massive failure on their end that it had been taken in the first place.

He saw Pike pace around his office, nearly shouting into his phone. His stomach did a somersault and he squirmed in his seat. If he hadn’t already hated this situation, seeing how his stunt affected his colleagues would definitely do it now. And it made things worse that he knew it wasn’t nearly the end of it.

Finally, Pike came out of his office and cleared his throat, rendering the whole room completely silent.

“I just got off the phone with special agent Collins, he says that the techs are still going through the scene but they have some preliminary findings that the FBI wants to share with us,” he announced running his hand over his head. “Blake, Miller, you’re gonna join him at the FBI field office for a briefing.”

Bellamy nearly fell out of his chair, trying to get up too quickly. Miller looked at him funny and cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Bellamy was grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he would be able to find any good excuse for his jumpiness.

“Oh, and you two are going to be our official liaisons to the FBI during their investigation,” Pike called after them.

Bellamy very pointedly ignored Miller’s loud snort after he tripped over his own feet.

***

Bellamy and Millers sat at back of the quickly filling conference room. The detectives from all of the precincts involved in the task force were asked to joined the briefing and the crowd was gathering quickly, no one wanted to miss out on any new information.

“Okay, history buff, I need some background,” Miller said, nudging Bellamy with his elbow. “How much are we on the hook for if this thing’s got any new scratches?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure but it is an actual national treasure and the last time it went on a tour, it was insured for 300 million euros, so I’d say probably somewhere in that neighbourhood.”

Miller whistled. “That’s not any neighbourhood I’d even been in.”

Bellamy hummed in agreement and in that very moment, his burner phone buzzed in his pocket. He scrambled to fish it out of his pocket and then hide it from everyone as he read Murphy’s texts telling him that Emori had delivered the painting to the buyer and that she was back with the cash for them.

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Miller hissed, leaning closer to Bellamy’s side. “You’ve been fidgeting like crazy the last few days and frankly, you’ve been weird for like, two months now. Did you meet a girl or something?” he chuckled. But then Bellamy felt himself blush ever so slightly. For a moment, he didn’t think about the fact that he and three dozens of law enforcement professionals were about to talk in vivid details about the heist he just pulled himself. All he had in his head was the soft kiss that Clarke pressed against his cheek when he was leaving her place yesterday morning and wished him good luck.

He opened and closed his mouth without a word and Miller just laughed.

“You so did!” he whisper-shouted. “Come on, talk!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes but smiled at his partner. With all that stress about the heist, he didn’t feel like talking to Miller about anything substantial lately, worried that he might let something slip. No wonder his partner noticed that something was going on with him. But this, talking about dating of all things, that was safe enough.

“She’s—great,” Bellamy choked out with the smallest of giggle. Miller’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s an artist.”

“Wow, where did _you_ meet her?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Bellamy snorted and punched Miller’s shoulder lightly. They were both still chuckling when Collins and a couple of agents came into the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is what we know by now,” Collins started and Bellamy listened with one ear as he explained how the thieves used some sort of a device to disrupt the cameras, so they didn’t even have anything to track. The techs found way too many fingerprints around the flower pot where the paintings was found and on the way there from the loading bay and running them would take ages – and that would only make sense if the thieves were stupid enough not to wear gloves. Which was rather unlikely, seeing how they used the easiest accessible gas to knock out everyone in the bay, so tracking those purchases would may be help but only if they bought it online and paid with a credit card, though they could’ve gone to an army surplus store and found someone who’d sell that to them under the table and then that would hardly leave a paper trail.

Bellamy bounced his knee and covered his face with his hand. That was exactly what he’d done—and he drove all the way to Delaware, too. He had no idea where Murphy got all his gizmos from but it was a safe bet that those were custom made and untraceable as well. For a moment, he suspected Murphy might’ve asked Raven for help but Clarke would've known if she were involved. No, he probably got them with that incredibly detailed package about the artwork and the building.

It was a little depressing, to be honest. Yes, he’d been stressed beyond belief ever since Murphy came back into his life but the heist itself was almost—too easy.

Well, okay, it definitely wasn’t and if even one thing went wrong, they would’ve been fucked. Their plan was simple enough though, but it still looked like that was all it took to dig a pretty deep grave for the police and the FBI to fall into. If it wasn’t him that they were trying to find, he’d be pretty frustrated right now.

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips. Collins was explaining how they would divide the labour from now, once the warrants were signed. He listed all the interviews and searches that needed to be conducted and looking around the room, it was clear that they all knew they’d have their hands full for a long time.

“The only good news now, I’m afraid, is that at least we have the painting secured,” Collins said, finishing his briefing and Bellamy had to look away.

_If he only knew._

***

If only took three more days for it all to go to shit.

The shrill of his ringtone woke Bellamy ridiculously early that morning and for a split second, he wondered what had happened to his alarm clock and why was it yelling at him all of a sudden, before he realised that it was an actual phone call.

He dug himself from under Clarke, who had taken to sleeping draped all over him, and smiled when she only grumbled in her sleep and burrowed her face further into his pillow.

Bellamy answered the call but didn’t talk until he was out of his bedroom and on his way down to the kitchen.

“Turn on the news,” Miller told him in lieu of hello. Bellamy veered into the living room, turned the tv on and jumped the channels until he found the news. And then it was pretty obvious why was his partner up and awake so early in the morning.

He’d muted the tv but the headline said it all.

_Leonardo stolen_ was all but screaming at him from the screen and though he couldn’t hear her, the excitement was clear on the presenter’s face. That could only mean one thing – someone had finally realised that the FBI hadn’t actually recovered anything yet.

_Fuck_ , he thought to himself.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Miller spoke into his ear and Bellamy realised he must’ve cursed out loud. He hummed.

“That’s—not good,” Bellamy said, hesitantly. Miller snorted on the other side.

“Wow, you are so not awake yet,” he laughed. “I expected more emotions and more swearing.”

“I’m in shock,” Bellamy deadpanned and it was surprisingly not that far from the truth. If it were the FBI who discovered the switch, they would’ve heard it from Pike or maybe even Collins himself. But as Bellamy flipped through the other news channels and saw the exact same news everywhere, it became pretty clear that either there was a leak or someone else tipped them off. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out who could that possibly be, none of the people involved it the heist, as far as he could tell, had the slightest interest in letting anyone know the truth.

“Well, snap out of it, get some coffee and I’ll see you at the station soon,” Miller said and Bellamy shook his head. “I suspect the only reason why we haven’t been called in yet is because we’re keeping the line busy.”

They disconnected and sure enough, Bellamy didn’t even make it to the kitchen when his phone rang again and his sergeant informed him that he had an hour to get in.

Bellamy flipped the coffee maker on and went back upstairs to wake Clarke up. That was going to be a long day.

***

He and Miller were sent to the FBI again. They were led directly into the evidence room in the basement and the mood was decidedly more fraught than during their last visit. The cops were either completely silent or talking quietly amongst each other. More than once, Bellamy heard someone’s incredulous ‘ _how come it took them this long to realise_ ’ and to be honest, he was asking himself the same question.

Clarke’s forgery was brilliant, there was no doubt about that but surely, Azgeda hired only the best to take care of the collection and they should’ve been able to spot it quicker.

He shifted from one foot to the other. Not long later, Collins came in, leading in a couple of angry-looking men in very expensive suits. The men stood the side as Collins walked over to one of the lockers; they tensed while he opened it and then everyone in the room inhaled sharply only to go completely quiet. And there it was, Clarke’s forgery.

Bellamy smiled, a warm ball of pride swelling deep in his gut. Sure, he had no right to claim her success in fooling so many people but he was still so incredibly proud of Clarke and all that hard work she’d done to paint this. And this was the only time when anyone would ever appreciate what an a spectacular job she’d done.

Collins pulled out the painting from the locker and set it on the table, against the wall. Everyone in the room came a little closer and stared at it, as if they could tell one way or the other, whether or not in was genuine.

The knocking on the door distracted them from the painting. Bellamy looked over to see who came in and did a double take.

“Ah, professor Wallace, come in!” Collins called, waving Dante inside. Bellamy gulped and tried no to look too conspicuous when their eyes met. The corners of Dante’s mouth twitched in a sort-of smile and Bellamy couldn’t help but think that he was amused with the situation.

Well, good for him.

He looked at Dante’s back as he walked to the painting and ‘examined’ it very closely. Bellamy had no idea what it took to distinguish the original painting from the copy but surely, _knowing_ which one that was couldn’t have hurt. Still, Dante took his time.

Finally, Collins broke. “So, professor, is that the painting?”

Dante turned around, tapping his forefinger against his chin.

“Well, it is _a_ painting. And it is absolutely brilliant,” he said. Bellamy could’ve sworn he saw an actual smile on his face. “But no, it is not the original _Lady with the Ermine_. There aren’t any whiskers.”

“I’m—sorry? Are you sure?” Collins’s voice was almost comically high. Bellamy could relate. He collected his jaw off the floor and looked at Dante, who looked back and gave a slightest of nods.

“Well, I assume I’ve been invited here not just because you have fond memories of my lectures, mister Collins,” Dante scolded and Collins’s face turned tomato-red, “but because unlike any of my colleagues, I have had the pleasure of studying the painting, seeing it up-close. Now, off the top of my head, I can’t tell you how many whiskers is the ermine supposed to have, but I’d say _some_ would be nice,” Dante explained with a satisfied grimace. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped away from the tables, inviting everyone to look for themselves.

Bellamy couldn’t help himself, he had to see it. He came up to the table and leaned it. And then he rubbed his hand over his eyes, hoping to clear his vision, but there it was.

Or rather, wasn’t.

True to Dante’s words, the ermine had fur but not one single whisker. He blinked and stepped back, not looking where he was going. He was too busy trying to comprehend what he’d just seen, compare it to a very vivid memory of Clarke telling him to stop distracting her or else the animal would end up with a full-blown moustache. Why would she paint the whiskers on one painting but not the other?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Dante broke the silence and snapped Bellamy out of his head. And a good thing, too, because he was about to ask his question out loud.

“I have another meeting,” Wallace announced and without waiting to be dismissed by the shell-shocked Collins, bid farewell to the rest of the room and left.

Miller was the first to recover. He huffed loudly and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Well, this is worse.”

***

Bellamy dropped the stack of papers onto his desk and fell into his chair. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling, blowing an ever so tired raspberry. He had been given a list of people to call and question, and having established beforehand that no-one on it was in any way involved, he spent the next few hours conducting the world’s most pointless interviews. It was exhausting but he couldn’t exactly half-ass it, just because he actually knew they wouldn’t lead anywhere.

What he really wanted to do was call Clarke and ask her what the hell happened but she was at work and that meant earphones in and phone off, so that would have to wait.

“Tell me something,” Miller said, catching Bellamy’s attention. He swivelled in his chair and looked at Miller sideways. “How did that crack team of specialists Azgeda hired and the fricking FBI managed to miss that someone slipped them a forgery?”

Bellamy clasped his hands together and brought them to the back of his neck. “Quite easily, actually. They never checked.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Bellamy shook his head. “Nope, I just caught the tail end of Pike’s rant. Apparently, because the painting was found inside the building and their GPS tracker was still where they left it, the FBI assumed the thieves couldn’t find the way out, so they cut their losses and hid it to give themselves time to escape. Which, I suppose, was partially what really happened.”

Miller rolled his eyes and Bellamy explained further.

“Besides, to be fair, they couldn’t even dust it for prints, much less run any more tests, just like that, they were still waiting for all sorts of permissions.”

Miller nodded his head and grimaced. “Still, though. How could they just _assume_ , I mean, damn it. Fucking Bureaucratic Imbeciles. But what about Azgeda? Shouldn’t they be all over that painting? They had security guards all over it but once that failed, they what? Forgot all about it?”

Bellamy shrugged one shoulder but it did make him wonder. Nia Frost was out of town during the heist but surely, she must’ve left someone in charge and they should’ve at least asked to examine it. What reason could they possibly have to expose themselves to liability like that?

***

Clarke rolled her eyes when Lightbourne’s assistant sent her the name of the restaurant where he invited her for lunch. Only a man like that would want to discuss the sale of a stolen masterpiece in one of the poshest restaurants in town. But at least it gave Clarke the opportunity to dust off one of the ridiculously expensive cocktail dresses her mother likes to send her every now and then, just so that she’d have something ‘proper’ to wear for the occasional party Abby wanted her to attend.

The outfit, the hair and the make-up, it felt more like a straitjacket than anything else and she’d much rather wear that button down shirt she’d stolen from Bellamy the last time she’d slept at his place but at least it worked. She was barely recognisable. And the moment she entered the restaurant, the manager all but spread himself like a carpet in front of her and informed her that mister Lightbourne was already waiting for her.

Clarke felt a shiver down her spine when Lightbourne shook her hand and smiled widely at her, showing his teeth. She rubbed her hand on her thigh once she sat down and moved her chair as far away from him as possible.

“How lovely it is to finally meet you, Miss?” Lightbourne said, still grinning at her.

Clarke smiled back but it didn’t reach her eyes. After Dante came to her with his idea, Clarke wanted to know more about the property he wanted to buy and the company he was trying to win against and what she’d found made her skin crawl. Sanctum had dozens of investigations against them and all of them were dropped under undisclosed circumstance and there was a mile-long trail of allegation behind them, accusing them of all sorts of things.

Clarke hated being here with him, hated doing business with someone like him. However, Lightbourne knew Dante and there was no way to keep their identities secret if he were the one meeting with him.

But even more than that, she hated not telling Bellamy about any of it. She was the one who asked for full transparency, only to turn around and do _this_ behind his back. She told herself it was better that way. He was already stressed and exhausted, and putting more on his shoulders was the last thing she wanted. Keeping the sale to herself gave Bellamy a plausible deniability, or so she told herself every time she kissed him goodbye. For a split second, she thought about not telling him about it at all but that idea died before it even fully formed. Clarke wasn’t sure where things with him were going but she knew that if she wanted them to go anywhere, she couldn’t keep this from him for much longer. She just hoped that once he knew, he would still want to talk to her.

But this was Dante and she owed him too much not to help him now. She honestly didn’t know where she’d be right now if at one point, he hadn’t convinced her that she had a real talent and could actually use it. He was the one who helped her believe that she could do anything she wanted to with her future and she didn’t have to go to med school, like Abby wanted her to do. That she could have a life that she could actually enjoy living.

Clarke picked at the skin around her nails, scraping off the imaginary fleck of paint. She nearly started to bite her nails again, because of the stress. She couldn’t wait for this to be over. She looked up at Lightbourne.

“I’m happy to meet you, too, Mr. Lightbourne,” she started, ignoring his try to learn her identity. She grabbed a disposable phone from her clutch.

“Russell, please,” he interrupted, grinning again. Clarke clenched her teeth and tried not to think about how much he reminded her of a shark.

“Yes, well, let’s talk business,” she said and offered him the phone. She was on a Skype call with Dante, who propped the painting against the wall and kept a clock in the frame with it. “As you can see, this is a live feed. We have the painting but it’s only available for another few hours, before we have to move on.”

Russell scrutinised the phone for a moment and then gave it back to her with pursed lips.

“And how can I tell this is the genuine article?” he asked, putting his hands together with just the tips of his fingers touching. Clarke exhaled and forced an easy smile.

“You had the chance to meet me there but you chose this lovely place, instead,” Clarke said and felt a small pang of satisfaction when she noticed Russell’s eye twitch. She probably should’ve been more worried but aside from Sanctum, she also researched his daughter and it very much looked like he never once said no to her. She was pretty sure that just agreeing to meet with her meant that he wouldn’t leave without that painting.

“Well, you’ve got me there. But I wanted to spend a little time with the person who managed to lead the FBI by their noses for so long.”

Clarke’s eye brow jumped up but she managed to keep her face blank otherwise. "Oh, I'm just a proxy here, I'm sure you can understand the need for a little subterfuge."

She leaned against her chair, put her arms on the armrests and drew a mindless pattern over the edge with her fingers. She was doing whatever she could not to let Russell know how impatient she was to get the hell out of there. “Can I assume you’re pleased?” she asked in a saccharine, innocent voice and fluttered her eyes lashes. The corner of her mouth twitched when she saw his Adam’s apple bob, his hands curling into fists. She had him.

“I am impressed, yes,” he confirmed. He drummed his fingers against the table. After a moment of silence, he fished a phone from his pocket and after scrolling through it a bit, he turned it around to show her that a transfer for 15 million dollars had just been completed. Clarke’s phone pinged. One look at the notifications and she smiled, genuinely for the first time, seeing that the money was already in their account.

Russell waved the waiter over and turned back to Clarke. “Would you like to stay for a meal with me, maybe a celebratory drink?” he asked, sounding hopeful. Clarke stifled a shudder and shook her head lightly. She pulled out an access card and piece of paper with an address and details written on it.

“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” she said, feigning regret. “I think it’s better if were not seen together any longer than necessary.” Russell nodded in understanding, though she could see disappointment in his eyes. She blinked, trying to fight the bile rising in her throat at the thought that she attracted a man like Lightbourne. Still, she continued, pushing the card toward him. “Your prize will be waiting for you at this address until the end of the day,” Clarke explained. She rose from the chair and walked away not looking back. She already knew she was going to need another shower once she was home.

***

The news of the theft started a shitstorms the size Bellamy had never seen before. It began innocently enough—if having various media outlets across the country blasting the news all day round could even possibly be seen as such.

At this point, Bellamy found himself to be just as curious about the investigation as the rest of his colleagues. Finding out who sent the anonymous tip in the first place ended up being a dead end, seeing as it was sent as a mass text to various news station and all of them unanimously claimed that they had no idea who it was from but also refused to supply them with the number. But soon enough, that landed very far on anyone’s list of priorities.

In only took a couple more days but the FBI managed to wrestle Azgeda’s reluctance towards examining the painting into a search warrant into their financial records and operations, and it took them unbelievably little time to discover an offshore account in Nia’s name, showing large transactions leading up to and immediately after the heist, along with some communications with persons unknown that spoke, and not very covertly, about the theft.

The media jumped on the accusations like a pack of wolves and they were gearing up to crucify her before any of it was in any way confirmed. The FBI seemed somewhat more cautious, though they certainly didn’t hate having at least one suspect.

And Bellamy was, despite his better judgement, starting to believe that theory as well. It did feel rather convenient that all that evidence was oh, so easily found on the company servers but the more he looked into it, the more believable it looked. All the details they got about the job suggested someone on the inside, the messages corresponded perfectly with the dates that Murphy was released from prison, contacted Bellamy and organised the whole heist and the payments were absolutely accurate to what Murphy was receiving—not that he was very helpful in confirming Bellamy’s suspicions. Where Murphy was concerned, the second he’d given the painting to Emori, he suffered a sudden and irreversible memory loss.

Not to mention, Nia Frost was almost legendary for going after the things she wanted with the subtlety of a roadroller. Bellamy struggled to believe that she was stupid enough not to at least try and hide her tracks a little bit better but who knew, maybe she didn’t even entertain the possibility of being caught—and Bellamy definitely knew better that to underestimate the arrogance of the rich.

The FBI quickly taken over the investigation into Azgeda, no doubt using the opportunity to dig as deep into the company as they could manage and the police was left with the task of finding the actual thieves. And every day that Bellamy left work, he breathed a little easier because the search was going tragically poorly.

The actual painting was no-where to be seen, Nia was vehemently denying all accusations, claiming she was being framed and the interviews were giving them absolutely nothing. Nearly a week after the heist and they were still going through all the records with no luck.

Well, more like they were staring at the papers and waiting for their brains to leak out of their ears.

At one point of the night, Miller dropped everything onto his desk, leaned back in his chair and let out a long-suffering groan. “If I never have to talk to people about art, that will be too soon.”

Bellamy chuckled.

“Seriously, man, this is hopeless,” Miller complained. “The gas in untraceable, they took everything with them, the delivery van had been reported stolen the night before and the cameras haven’t recorded anything for the whole hour around the heist, so we have no idea how or when they got in. Oh, and all of the known forgers claim they don’t know anything and are more than happy to provide alibis. It’s like those guys moved into a police station, looked at how we conduct investigations and made a list of things not to do.”

Bellamy choked on air and cleared his throat, hoping to mask his reaction. Miller looked at him sideways but didn’t react.

“Anyway, I need to think about something else.” He huffed, straightened in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. He looked at Bellamy with a grin. “Tell me more about your girl.”

Bellamy snorted. “Gossip, really?” he asked and Miller nodded, face mockingly seriously. Bellamy grimaced. “She’s fine, it’s going—well.”

Or so he hoped. Since the heist, Bellamy was working almost around the clock and then falling face-first into his bed as soon as he was back home, so they saw each other less than he’d grown used to over the previous couple of months. She always seemed happy to see him and they spoke every night but they never had the chance to talk about what they were doing. As much as Bellamy hated it, he always ended up talking about the case and how stressful it was not only to investigate himself but also to lie about it to everyone around him. But Clarke was still the only person he could about it and he didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if she weren’t there. And he was even less eager to consider if they even had a future together. What if after all this was done, she’d decided that they’d had their fun and it was over?

But he couldn’t tell any of that to Miller, either. And to be honest, he could already feel how this whole situation was probably giving him an ulcer.

Miller sized him up with eyes narrowed eyes. “You are even less forth-coming than usual. But you know what, I’ll take it. That’s how desperate I am for a change of subject,” he said and got up, heading towards the kitchen.

“We can always talk about you and that ER doctor you were flirting with the last time we were at the hospital,” Bellamy called after him and laughed when Miller flipped him the bird.


	7. Chapter 7

Collins was driving everyone crazy.

After nearly a week of sending her attorneys with threats and injunctions, Nia Frost finally came to DC and to everyone’s surprise, agreed to an interview. And for reasons that no-one understood, Collins chose to have it in their station instead of the FBI field office.

On the day of, he arrived first thing in the morning and refused to sit down for one minute, running around with his hair on fire. Even Pike was starting to look like he was considering throttling him—and Bellamy would’ve gladly helped.

When they finally got word that Nia had arrived – with her small army of lawyers – Collins nearly passed out. Bellamy had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing as Miller facepalmed with all the passion of a former member of a drama club. And then again, when they realised that Nia’s entourage couldn’t fit in one elevator and some of them had to run up the stairs.

Finally, they settled in Pike’s office and the rest of the station failed miserably at pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on the interview.

Bellamy didn’t even try pretending that he wasn’t watching through the window. He spent the last couple of days running through the whole thing in his head, wondering if she was the one who’d hired them – and if so, did she know who he was? There was no recognition in her eyes when she passed him on her way in and judging by the angry, red faces of her attorneys, talking over each other, she was denying everything. But who knew. Maybe he was two steps from being arrested and didn’t even know it.

His hands tightened on the armrests when Nia, not having said one single word past ‘hello’, got up from her chair and simply walked out of Pike’s office, leaving her lawyers behind and Collins scrambling after her. She stopped when Collins called her name and pivoted on her stilettos. Collins barely stopped short of running into her, only just coming up to her chin, and judging by her clenched jaw, she was moments away from having steam come out of her ears.

“Mister Collins,” she finally said, a dangerous edge in her voice. “I understand that you have a job to do, though whoever thought it wise to entrust a task as important as this to you should truly rethink their life choices, but I don’t have the time to entertain this witch hunt of yours any longer.”

Collins opened his mouth to argue but Nia didn’t let him speak.

“I have spent a lot of time and money planning this tour and staked my own reputation to ensure that it goes smoothly—and I was only able to do that because of that reputation. Do you really believe me to be so stupid that I would steal one of those painting from my own building, while still being responsible for its safety? And think very carefully before you answer.”

She went quiet for a beat and when Collins didn’t say anything, she huffed.

“Now, I’ve allowed you to enter my company, you’ve searched my home and yet you have not found the painting or any actual evidence of my involvement in this farce. You have absolutely nothing apart from bits and pieces that have obviously been planted specifically to frame me and I believe that I’ve indulged you, all of you, for long enough. I’m sure my lawyers would very much like to earn their wages by explaining to you the concept of slander but I’d much rather leave this place as soon as possible so I’ll make this quick—I have not stolen the Leonardo nor have I hired anyone to do it for me and if you don’t stop this harassment, there will be consequences.” She finished her rant with a long glance over the whole squad. She then turned around and walked out of the room without a word of a goodbye and when the elevator door finally closed behind her, Bellamy felt himself relax.

Nia looked straight at him and yet there wasn’t even a hint of recognition, so either she really had no idea who he was or she was the best actress he’d ever seen – but in that case, she still couldn’t say anything about him without contradicting her vehemently maintained innocence.

Bellamy took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, watching as Collins dropped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. There was complete and absolute resignation all over his face and Bellamy tried to feel bad for him but honestly, the relief of knowing that the official investigation was nearing a dead end was nearly blinding.

For the first time since Murphy broke into his house and turned his world upside down, he was starting to believe that he might be getting out of the woods.

***

The interview with Nia Frost was an absolute train wreck. Well, actually Finn could only wish it was as elegant as a train wreck – she demolished and humiliated them. And worst of all, she was right. The investigation was going so badly from the very beginning that when they found the messages and the transfers on Azgeda servers, he jumped on them, even despite knowing that it made no sense—but he needed something, _anything_ , to recover from this clusterfuck.

But now, he was done. His boss told him to wrap things up in Washington and come back to Quantico, so that they could continue the investigation more quietly, away from the media. And he dreaded that comeback more than anything in his life, there was no way he could come out of in scot-free, not unless a miracle happened and the thieves turned themselves in and told him who bought the painting from them.

Finn was almost done packing the things he’d brought to the station when his phone pinged with a text from his boss that he wanted to see him first thing next morning. He thought about calling Clarke again. She was quite unwavering in her insistence that he didn’t contact her again but who knew, maybe he’d be able to wriggle some sympathy from her.

But before he had the chance to pull up her contact information, there was a loud noise outside the station, like a window breaking, followed by the blaring of a car alarm. Finn looked up to see the cops all scramble to the windows, to see whose car had been broken into but before any one of them figured it out, his phone blew up with all sort of alarms and he realised that it was the car app on his phone, letting him know that it was his rental.

Great, that was just what he needed to complete this perfect fucking day.

He left the building and went over to the parking lot at the back, his head hanging low, his fingers tugging at his hair. He walked over to his rental and groaned when he saw that the backdoor window had been smashed to bits.

But then, as he came closer, he noticed that something had been stuffed inside and he rushed to the car. Finn stopped dead in his tracks when he was able to see better into the car and he noticed a large piece of wood on the back seat. More importantly, he recognised the piece of wood. He’d spent the last week looking at it from every angle, studying it and dreaming about it.

When he finally unfroze, he ran up the last couple of feet to the car and yanked at the car door, only then realising that the central locking was still engaged. He fumbled with the keys, trying to take them out of his pocket and unlocking the car.

And then, there it was. The _Lady with an Ermine_ was just sitting there, propped between the driver seat and the back row, and Finn felt tears push their way to his eyes. He had no idea if this was the real one, probably should't even let himself hope that it was but he couldn't help it.

Finn reach out to pull the painting out of the car but hesitated before he grabbed it, just for a moment.

By then, half of the squad came out of the station, captain Pike was already at his side, phone in hand and calling for a team of technicians, but Finn could barely hear what was going on around him. All that he could think of was that maybe he won't have to spend the rest of his career filing memos.

***

The news about the Vinci being returned—and this time extensively checked—had been blasting from every device Clarke owned for hours now. Bellamy texted her a couple of hours ago asking if she wanted him to come by and in a sudden spur of hope, she ran to the shop to pick up a bottle of champagne, wishing that a little liquid confidence might help her with the conversation ahead. The bottle was chilling in the fridge now but Clarke, perched on the edge of her couch, waited anxiously for the buzz of her intercom, signaling that Bellamy was on his way up.

Finally, she heard the knock on her door and leapt up form her seat. She opened the door and nearly swooned because Bellamy was slumped against the door frame, head drooping onto his shoulder. He still hadn’t shaved and the very thought of feeling that few-day stubble under her fingertips made her fingers tingle. He looked exhausted but the moment he saw her, he smiled a tired but bright smile. Clarke let out a small hum.

Bellamy pushed himself away from the door-frame, took her hand and pulled her in for a slow kiss. Clarke gasped into his mouth and put her arms around his shoulders, making him chuckle. With one of his hands still tangled into her hair, he wrapped his other arm around her back and hoisted her up a little. Clarke broke the kiss and dropped her head onto his shoulder, breathing into his neck. Bellamy carried her inside and when he put her down onto the floor in the living room, he leaned in for another kiss but Clarke put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Wait, Bell. Stop,” she said, voice quiet. Bellamy stilled immediately and started to move away but Clarke kept her other hand on his neck to let him know she didn’t want him to leave. Still, she exhaled a long breath and dropped her head to look at her feet. “I need to tell you something.”

She looked up and saw his brow was furrowed and he had a confused look in his eyes. Clarke took a step back, dropping her hand from his neck and leading it down his arm to take his hand. Clarke led him to the couch and when she finally looked at him once they sat down, Bellamy’s expression was changing from confused to alarmed. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head quickly and cleared her throat.

“I—I’m not sure how to start,” she huffed and rubbed her forehead.

“From the beginning, preferably,” Bellamy shot back, his voice rough. “Clarke, what’s wrong? I’m getting worried.”

“Oh, don’t be! I mean—“ she groaned and tapped her forehead with the heel of her hand a few times. Finally, she snapped her head up, nose scrunched up, hair falling out from her bun. “I sold another Vinci!” she exclaimed, throwing her hand in the air.

Bellamy stayed quiet, just looking at her. The silence stretched between them for long enough for her to start worrying. He opened and closed his mouth a few times but it was a moment before he spoke.

“What?” Bellamy croaked. He started blinking rapidly, brow furrowed again.

“Uhm, Dante and I, we made another copy and there’s this real estate developer who was trying to buy this old theatre. He was going to demolish it, so we sold him our copy and used the money to get it first. Dante did, actually. And he’s gonna use the rest to renovate it and he says he wants to open like a community centre for all sorts of artists, that it would be a good way to spend his retirement—“ Clarke rambled on but she stopped when she noticed the blank expression on Bellamy’s face. “Bell?”

“What do you mean, _another copy_?”

“Well—“

“I was here a lot,” he said, slowly, like he was still sorting through everything in his head. “When did you even have the time?”

“Technically, I didn’t. Dante did that one.” She shrugged on shoulder. “The buyer, he got it for his daughter and they aren’t exactly art experts, so he thought it didn’t have to be—perfect,” she said with a grimace. Sure, she was proud as fuck of those paintings but it felt so, so weird and awkward, whenever she heard anyone compliment them. The most praise she’d ever received as an artist and it’s for forging a master.

Bellamy got up suddenly and started pacing around the living room. Clarke could see the gears turning in his head. She wrung her hands in her lap and bit her lip, waiting for Bellamy to say something.

Finally, he turned to look at her.

“Those whiskers,” he muttered. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “We couldn’t tell how would they verify it and how quickly they’d realise it’s a copy, so I did that to make sure someone would notice it fast. But then you said Azgeda never checked it at all and the FBI was still waiting to be allowed to touch it, I thought they’d never figure it out.”

“Did you send that tip to the media?” Bellamy jumped in. Clarke wasn’t sure what to think about his tone but he sounded more curious that angry, which gave her hope. She shook her head.

“No, of course not! And I nearly choked from laughter when I heard that Finn asked Dante for that consultation. I mean, he barely passed his class, Dante _never_ liked him. Apparently, he couldn’t help himself and was a little mean when he pointed out the discrepancy to Finn.”

Bellamy smiled to himself and it didn’t disappear as quickly as Clarke worried it might have. Then, he frowned and ran his hand through his hair.

“What about the other copy? The one we gave to the buyer? Is it missing anything?”

“Nope, that one’s good,” Clarke explained. Bellamy took a deep breath and nodded. “And I made sure that they were packed correctly so that you wouldn’t have mixed them up, so that the buyer got the correct one.” Bellamy nodded again, slowly, and sat down next to her on the couch. He didn’t touch her but Clarke still took it as a god sign.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “I know I’m the one who insisted on full transparency and that it’s gonna be a lame excuse but I didn’t wanna bother you with it. You were so stressed and exhausted, and I hated seeing you like that. I didn’t wanna put that on you but still, I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy hummed, looking ahead.

“Are you mad?” Clarke asked in a small voice.

“No,” he answered quickly, firmly, and finally looked at her. He looked tired and Clarke hated herself a little. “I’m not happy but—ah, I don’t know. We fucking stole a Vinci, I really have no right to judge you guys for taking an advantage of the opportunity.”

Bellamy scratched his head. “I guess I’m glad you didn’t tell me earlier, either. It was such a crazy week, if I had to worry about you getting caught up in that investigation—if someone found out you were involved—oh, damn it.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped into her lap. He was more worried about her getting herself into trouble than the fact that she’d kept something from him? A bashful smile blossomed on her face, making her feel so incredibly warm and cared for. She squirmed in her spot, looking at the side of Bellamy’s face. She still couldn’t quite believe how lucky she was to have met him. The best she had hoped for was that she’d get paid what she asked for and that she wouldn’t go down with them, never in her craziest fantasies did she expect to meet someone like Bellamy.

They both stayed quiet for a while but Clarke wasn’t so worried anymore.

“So, how well did you do?” Bellamy finally asked. Clarke frowned momentarily but then she got it.

“Oh! Uhm, 15 million!” she informed him. Bellamy whistled, impressed. “You know, we could’ve done so much better. If we planned it better, we could’ve done seven copies and they would’ve all sold, I’m sure.”

Bellamy looked at her sideways and smiled crookedly, little wrinkles appearing around his eyes. Clarke smiled back at him and moved her hand, so that her fingers were touching his. Bellamy’s fingers twitched before he wrapped them around hers, grabbing her hand in his warm embrace. Clarke squeezed back when she felt him rub his thumb over her knuckles.

‘We’re good, right?” she asked tentatively. Bellamy didn’t say anything, he just leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Clarke smiled and moved towards his mouth, in turn. She brushed her lips over his, carefully at first, but soon, she felt his hand brushing the hair away from her face. He tucked it behind her ear and left his hand to cradle her face. She kissed him again, more demanding now but still slowly, thoroughly.

Clarke licked her lips, heat pooling in her lower belly. She watched as Bellamy’s face grew more heated but before he could come in for another kiss, she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed against him to get up. She scurried towards the kitchen to grab the champagne and a couple of glasses. There was a sly smirk on Bellamy’s face when she came back but he also shot her a look she couldn’t quite name.

She looked down at herself, wondering if something happened with her clothes but she couldn’t see anything out of place. She took advantage of one of the first truly warm days of the year and put her favourite sundress on. It had a nice, deep cleavage and a fantastic waistline.

“What?” she asked, not sure what he was looking at.

Bellamy took her hand and pulled her in, so she landed straddling his lap, the skirt of her dress hiked up her thighs. “You look beautiful,” he said. Clarke felt her face warm up, she ducked her head and put it on his shoulder. Bellamy grabbed the champagne bottle, put it on the floor next to his leg, and grabbed her hand. He brought their joined hands to her neck, put them under her chin and nudged her head up, so she would look at him. “You are beautiful.”

Clarke blushed even more, head spinning even without the alcohol. Blindly, she reached behind her and placed the glasses on the coffee table. She brought her free hand to the back of Bellamy’s head, tangling her fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. She surged in for a heated kiss, pushing forward until Bellamy was leaning against the back of the couch. He slid forward a bit and Clarke ended up practically laying on top of him. She ground against him and when he moaned into her mouth, Clarke pressed herself even closer against him. Screw the champagne.

***

Next morning, Bellamy woke up to the gentle brush of Clarke’s fingers between his shoulder blades. It took him a moment to realise that she was tracing the lines of his tattoo. He stirred under her touch and she took her hand away, replacing it with her lips. The kiss was light and quick but clearly, Clarke knew he was awake, she placed her hand on his waist. He squirmed when her moving fingers tickled him. Clarke moved her hand to hug him from behind and he felt her smile against his back.

“Good morning,” she muttered against his spine, her warm breath caressing his skin. Bellamy tried to turn around but both of her arms were now tightly wrapped around his middle. He chuckled, grabbed her hand and tangled his fingers with hers. He brought their hands to his mouth and placed a kiss against her knuckles.

“We’re okay, right?” Clarke asked quietly into his back. Bellamy turned around in her embrace and wrapped his arms around her.

He pressed his lips against the side of her head. “Yeah, we’re good,” he said and kissed her temple.

Clarke clasped her hands behind his back and looked up. “Is this weird, though?” Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up, so she clarified. “I jumped into things before, way too quickly, and it always went to shit because we didn’t really know each other. But I trust _you_ and it scares me a little.”

Bellamy brought his hand to her chin and rubbed his thumb over her jaw.

“We can take this as slowly as you want,” he assured her “but I hope you’ll at least wanna try.” Clarke smiled and exhaled a deep, long breath. She moved in and kissed him, her fingers scratching down his back.

She broke the kiss and pulled away to shoot him a curious look.

“So, what about that tattoo? A laurel wreath?” she asked. Bellamy laughed.

“Yeah, I lost a bet with Octavia when she was still in high school, before she moved away,” he cleared his throat. Thinking of his sister didn’t always spring the best memories but this was a good one. “When she won, she decided she wanted to choose the tattoo I was going to get and she figured I needed some sort of a warning sign that I was a ‘perpetual nerd’,” he explained with a smile. Clarke was still running her fingers over the tattoo, her eyes focused on his shoulder.

“I’m surprised she didn’t want you to have it on your forehead, as a payback for naming her,” Clarke joked. Bellamy pursed his lips and pulled her in, squishing her against his chest. She shrieked and started laughing.

Bellamy took a deep breath, kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself. He had to get up soon and go to work, where everyone was still trying to catch him and would still be a while before the case goes cold but for the first time since the heist, he didn’t mind that. He didn’t even care very much, because for the first time, he felt like he had a real partner.

***

Two weeks after the heist, the cops were finally starting to give up on the search. The FBI took all their toys and went back home, and with the painting returned, everyone’s enthusiasm died down. Pike finally told them to put the search on the back-burner and move on to the current caseload, and Bellamy was finally able to breathe a little easier.

As if he was reading Bellamy’s mind, Murphy called him that very afternoon and asked to meet him. When Bellamy arrived at Murphy’s place, everything was cleared out and there was only one small duffel bag sitting on the dinner table. Murphy drummed his fingers on the table top without a word and waved his hand, inviting Bellamy to sit in the chair on the other side of the table.

When he sat down, Murphy slid the bag over to him. “Your cut,” he announced, one eyebrow cocked. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Bellamy for a while.

“How did you do it?” Murphy asked and huffed, annoyed, when Bellamy just shook his head, feigning ignorance. “Come on, you’re not gonna convince me that we actually sold the Vinci. I saw the press conference, that funny little agent had tears in his eyes when he said it was the real deal; I think he actually checked this time. So, how?”

Bellamy squirmed in his chair and shrugged.

“I ordered two copies,” he admitted. “I kept the original and gave you the other painting when you went to meet Emori.”

Murphy studied him, nodding his head solemnly, and then burst into laughter. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m retiring, if even you managed to con me.”

Bellamy chuckled.

“You’re actually serious about that?”

“Sure I am! I’m never gonna top that score, better to leave the stage as a winner.” Murphy got up from his chair and grabbed another duffel from behind the kitchen island, getting ready to leave—for good, probably. Bellamy frowned.

“You’re still on parole, you’re not supposed to leave. They’re not just gonna forget about you.”

“Course they won’t, I leave a lasting impression,” Murphy said and glared when Bellamy snorted. “Well, anyway, they won’t find me in Rio. Emori’s got a brother there, it’s’ a good start.”

“What are you gonna do next?” Bellamy asked and surprisingly, he actually cared. Clarke was right, no matter how annoying, Murphy was his friend and he cared, despite his better judgement.

Murphy shrugged, spreading his arms. “Not sure yet, but I think at some point, Vinci’s gonna buy me a Ferrari.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Bellamy got up from his seat, smiling.

He grabbed his own bag and they walked out the door and then out of the building. Murphy dropped his luggage into his car and tossed Bellamy the keys to the flat.

“The place is paid for till the end of the month but if you could give the keys back to the landlord, I don’t want to get my credit ruined, or my reputation,” Murphy instructed. Bellamy blew a raspberry, placed his hand on Murphy’s arm and pushed him away. Murphy flipped him the bird. “I know you’ll miss me when I’m gone. Don’t worry, I’ll sent you a postcard,” he promised with a mock salute. He climbed into the car and drove off, spinning his wheels.

Bellamy shook his head and was about to get into his own car, when his phone pinged. He pulled up his messages and smile when he saw a text from Clarke. She sent him a selfie with the two plane tickets to Italy that she went to pick up that morning.

It was definitely too soon to tell her he loved her. Hell, it was probably too soon for him to ever really think that but it didn’t matter. He knew what he knew and meeting her was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him—and he just got away with a heist that will go down in history.


	8. two months later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the last one, in which the last question is answered.

Bellamy opened the door for the waiter who brought them their breakfast and tipped the man before he brought the tray into their Roman hotel room and placed in on the coffee table in the small living room.

Clarke was already sitting in one of the armchairs, her head lolling from side to side and eyes closed. She had a relaxed smile on her face and smiled brilliantly when Bellamy approached her with a coffee mug. She reached blindly for the mug and only opened her eyes when she inhaled the scent. Clarke hummed with satisfaction and moved her head, so it was resting against his hip.

The tv in the corner was switched to CNN, and though the sound was muted, Bellamy noticed that the news report was almost ending. Bellamy took Clarke by her hand and pulled her up to her feet, leading her to the table. She dropped down to the couch, pulling him down with her.

They were halfway through their meal when the presenter announced an update on the Nia Frost and the Azgeda Corp. scandal. She spoke about an upcoming vote that was supposed to reveal the replacement of the recently ousted CEO and how it seemed like Nia’s son Roan was the most likely candidate.

Bellamy turned the volume up and listened a little more closely. The police investigation into the heist turned cold a couple of weeks before and even the FBI was all but giving in now that the whole collection dispersed and the Polish government demanded that they returned the painting home—losing their most important piece of evidence dampened their zeal dramatically.

However, almost as soon as the official investigation ended, an internal inquiry inside Azgeda began. Apparently, the reigning theory that the heist was an inside job all along worried the board enough that they decided to find out if it was the truth. Obviously, the company never revealed if they found anything or not but one thing did come out of it in the end. The board decided that no matter if she was responsible for the theft itself or not, it was Nia’s job to protect the good name of the company and at that, she failed miserably. And so, with an unanimous vote of no confidence, she was removed from her position.

It was a feeling that Bellamy hadn’t had before and couldn’t quite name now. The knowledge that his actions led to something so—big. They were pretty much directly responsible for such a huge personnel change in one of the biggest corporations in the world and Bellamy wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

Clarke, though, didn’t seem to have that problem, she was following the report with a calculating look in her eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what would happen next. It wasn’t often when Bellamy was reminded that she grew up surrounded by about a half of the Fortune 500 but this was definitely one of those moments, as he had no doubt she would be able to figure out exactly what sort of consequences Azgeda was facing.

As soon as the TV presenter mentioned the Azgeda board meeting, Clarke froze for a second with the spoon on its way to her mouth. She put it back into the bowl but didn’t move any further, only raised her eyebrows.

“It was never about the painting,” Clarke breathed after a moment, setting the bowl aside and turning slightly to face him.

“What?” Bellamy looked at her and saw her mouth tugging upwards to a smile full of incredulity.

“I think I know who hired us,” she said with surprise in her voice. “And I can’t believe I didn’t realise that before!”

“Okay,” Bellamy put his food away also and rubbed his forehead. “You need to explain.”

“Just think about it, your entire plan depended on the fact that everyone believed the original painting hadn’t been stolen and no one noticed that they were switched for long enough to give you the chance to deliver it to the buyer in peace. Granted, Dante and I meddled a bit but in the end, in wasn’t us who revealed the switch, we could’ve tried and sell our fake anyway. But someone called in an anonymous tip, someone who needed to make sure the world knew what happened—someone who had intimate knowledge of how it all went down.” She was speaking more and more quickly, excitedly. “Who else other than us knew any of that?”

“You’re right,” Bellamy agreed. “Emori was in on the plan and she must’ve told the buyer what we were doing, they’re the one who provided us with all the information and the shit we used. The buyer must’ve informed the media but _why_? We made a clean getaway and Azgeda didn’t even bother to show up and examine the painting, the fake could’ve gone back to the Museum before anyone realised what it was. So why on earth would anyone go to all this trouble and spend all that money, only to alert everyone that a crime had been committed?” he asked and Clarke smiled like she'd just figured out the mysteries of the Universe.

“To get rid of _her_!” Clarke pointed at the tv screen that was now playing an old footage of Nia trying to avoid the cameras on her way out of Azgeda building in New York, shortly after getting fired. She was followed by an incredibly smug looking man, who seemed strangely familiar to Bellamy but he couldn’t place him until the presenter called him Roan King, Nia’s son from her first marriage. Clarke waved her hand at the tv. “That’s who called the feds on us! He couldn’t let us just get away with it, he needed the scandal to get her fired. It was Roan!” Clarke exclaimed but Bellamy frowned.

“Her son? Why would he do that?”

“Because his mother stole the company from him.” Clarke was almost bouncing and Bellamy smirked lightly. It was cute.

“I was still in high school back then but this was quite a big deal,” she explained. “Roan’s father, who started the company, died and left a disposition that said that Roan was supposed to take over the reins when he turned 25 and his mother was supposed to lead in his stead until then, like a regent. But instead she turned the rest of the board to her side and when the time came, they voted her in as the CEO. Together, Nia and Roan had the controlling 51% but without her, Roan didn’t stand a chance. So he seemingly gave up on the company altogether.”

“That sounds very dramatic.”

“Oh, it was,” Clarke barked out a laugh and got up. “He even left the city and no one heard from him until like a year ago. I saw him during one of my mother’s benefits a few months after he came back. It was awkward as fuck and no one knew how to talk to him but I remember he was very chill about that, like he knew more that we all did.”

Bellamy looked back at the television, where the footage of Nia and Roan was playing on repeat. And then it hit him.

“The blueprints.”

“What?” Clarke frowned. Bellamy combed his hair with his fingers.

“When Murphy first came to me, he had everything—information about the painting, about the exhibition and a lot about Azgeda, including the blueprints of their building. Now, I didn’t pay attention then, or tried not to think about that but they weren’t copies or print outs, those were actual documents. Where better to get those than the owner of the building, huh?”

Clarke huffed a laughter. “Wow, he really thought that through. He must’ve been the one who kept their team away from examining the painting, too. He wanted the have total control over the situation.”

“And you think he just forgot about the ten million dollars he’d lost on this ridiculously elaborate plan?” Bellamy frowned.

“He’s about to regain control of his billion dollar company and just got back at his mother. I’d say to him, it’s the cost of doing business.” Clarke shrugged. Bellamy stared at her for a moment, surprised. He blinked slowly, not quite able to comprehend how anyone could just forget about losing that kind of money and move on but then again, he also couldn’t imagine what it was like to fight over a company like Azgeda, so.

He stood up and walked to Clarke.

“I really hope you’re right,” he finally said, wrapping his arms around Clarke’s waist from behind. She yelped lightly in surprise but then she turned her head to look at him with a smile. He nuzzled into her cheek. “I’d rather not come back home to a conflict with someone like him.” He pointed with his chin to the tv, where a new report begun and they were now talking about Roan and what would his leadership mean to Azgeda.

Clarke raised her hand and patted his cheek, smirking at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she promised and Bellamy places a kiss on the inside of her hand. A corner of her mouth was raised in a playful smile. Bellamy pursed his lips but it morphed into a grin very quickly.

"I love you," he said, feeling a little insecure but Clarke was beaming. She let out a wordless laugh and grinned back at him.

"I love you, too," she breathed out, her cheeks turning pink with a blush. She pushed further into his embrace and giggled.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, nose dragging its way up her neck and when Clarke moved her head to the side for easier access, he blew a raspberry into the crook of her neck. She shrieked in shock and started to turn in his arms, no doubt ready to scold him, but before she had the chance, he hoisted her up into his arms and kissed her messily. She started laughing halfway through the kiss and was still laughing when he carried her all the way to the bedroom.

He'd really have to track Murphy one day, Bellamy thought. He should probably thank him for dragging him into this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks! hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for all your support and feedback :)  
> come and find me on tumblr @[carrieeve](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> hope you like it so far, i'm gonna be posting a chapter every other day.  
> come and find me on tumblr @[carrieeve](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com)


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